High Mountain Romance
by KristiLynn
Summary: An Alternate Universe. Matt finds romance with a girl he finds stabbed and left to die. In the process of helping her find a murderer, they fall in love. But things are not easy.
1. Chapter 1

"HIGH MOUNTAIN RANGERS"

TITLE: "A HIGH MOUNTAIN ROMANCE"

AUTHOR: KRISTI

_Author's Note: This is something I've had in a notebook for a while, not so much as an HMR story, but using Matt, Jessie, and Cody for my own nefarious purposes. Since I've discovered fan fiction for the show, I thought I'd covert it to one. In my "Universe", the drug bust happened, but Jim and Tim both survived (this seems to be fairly popular in fan fiction), and Matt returned to the Rangers shortly after regaining the ability to walk. Jim and Robin are in a relationship (which I've seen in one or two stories, I did this to allow for my own character). Thanks to Kris Peterson for background on how Matt came to the Rangers. Weather information came from and is for December, 2007._

_The character of Kris Morrell is my own, my alter-ego if you will. Frost, Golden Prince, Silver, and Lassie (whom you will meet) are all also my own creations. _

_Disclaimer: The characters belong to CBS and the wonderful show "High Mountain Rangers", as well as the wonderful actors (and actress) who portrayed them. I'm merely borrowing them for a while. I promise that they'll be well-treated, especially Matt (grin)._

_Chapter One:_

Doctor Michael Montgomery steps into the dimly lit room of his newest patient at Barton General

Hospital in South Lake Tahoe, California. He pauses when he senses another presence in the small private room that overlooks the little snow-covered courtyard just outside the window (which provides a place of refuge for patients and their families). The man is tall and slender, but has the natural build of an athlete. His best guess places him at six feet and a couple of inches. **Probably an ex-football player**, but he wouldn't rule out basketball either. His clothes are white, except for a black turtleneck, and his jacket carries the shield-shaped insignia of the famous Search and Rescue unit that calls South Lake Tahoe home. The pale blond (almost white) hair gives away his identity instantly. "Any ID on your Jane Doe," he quizzes as he eyes the young, but somewhat intimidating, Commander of the world famous High Mountain Rangers, Matthew Hawkes.

Matt shifts slightly at the unexpected intrusion, his glacier blue eyes piercing the doctor's resolve, then instantly subsides into a gentle and concerned glance when they return to the motionless figure in the hospital bed. "I've had McBride run a local missing persons search. . .and just got Claudia to expand it statewide," he answers quietly as he strokes her hand.

Doctor Montgomery looks curiously at the young man he's come to know quite well over the last two years (seen him numerous times—both as a patient, and as a concerned relative and/or friend of a patient). His life revolves solely around the Search and Rescue Unit that his father founded almost thirty years ago, which he joined at nineteen—shortly after his father was injured in the line of duty. A few years later, he took over (when then Commanding Officer Merlin Pierce was killed in the line of duty) and has brought it to national fame with a very successful track record in the extremely rugged and hard to cope with (both summer and winter) Sierra Nevada Mountains of California. But he's never seen him like this:

Two days ago, Saturday, December second, Matt was out riding his cream Mustang gelding, when he came across an horrifying sight: a woman, stabbed and left to die, off a deserted mountain road. Only the bitter cold (in the low thirties at the time he found her—though it later got up to forty-four, and had been twenty-two that night) had kept her from bleeding to death. But she was suffering severe hypothermia. He immediately went into "Ranger mode"—blankets, oxygen, and rapid transport to Barton General in South Tahoe.

Since then, he's absolutely refused to leave her side—leaving his Second-in-Command in charge, and taking his first personal time off in months. But he's dressed in their standard winter uniform: white ski pants and boots, with a black turtleneck. A heavy white parka is tossed over the back of one of the two chairs in the room.

"Well—I do have some good news for you," Michael smiles.

"What?"

"She's over the worst of the hypothermia. No permanent damage."

"The cold kept her from bleeding out," Matt reminds him.

"Exactly, with that wound, if the temperature had been as high as the forties, she'd have died quickly."

"Why hasn't she come around?"

The doctor shakes his head, "I wish I knew. The PT scan didn't reveal anything. The only thing of interest is the fact that her left knee's a replacement. That ought to help narrow your search down. Can't be to many girls her age with a replaced knee."

"She's someone's daughter, wife--"

"Daughter, certainly. Wife—no."

"What are you talking about?"

"When we did a rape exam, to be on the safe side—standard procedure you know that in cases like this, the doctor found she's a virgin. Unusual for a girl her age."

_Chapter Two:_

Once Michael has left to see about another patient, Matt sits back down in the chair that he has already pulled up next to the head of the bed. "Who are you, Snowbird," he whispers softly, picking up her left hand and kissing it gently—pressing it lightly to his lips. Stroking her silky hair (a rich golden brown--**honey blond, **he thinks with a soft smile), he studies her intently yet again. Her skin, what he can see for the several bruises, is a delicate "peaches and cream"--not like his own (blasted by the mountain sun). Her features are finely sculpted and she has long eye lashes. She's also tall (about five feet eight inches—he guesses), with long slender legs visible under the blanket. She's slim, but certainly not anorexic.

Right now, she's covered by a heavy white blanket. An IV drips into her left wrist, and a canula provides oxygen. To take pressure off of a punctured lung (from the stab wound in her left lung), she's been propped at an angle.

Matt kisses her hand again. When he speaks, his voice is soft, with a faint Western accent, "I wish you'd wake up, Snowbird." Reluctant to release her, he reaches for the phone on the nightstand and dials the Sheriff's office.

Claudia Perkins answers immediately, "Alpine County Sheriff's Office. Can I help you?"

"Claudia—it's Matt, again. Here's something to help narrow your search: Jane Doe has a replaced left knee."

"That'll help a little. How's she doing?"

"Better. But still hasn't woken up yet. Got anything on her clothing?"

"Nothing special. That sweater she had on was pure cashmere though, very nice."

"How about her jewelry?"

Claudia checks her notes, "A genuine Rolex Sports Watch, definitely not a fake, with the date of April 22nd, 19. Pierced ears, but no earrings. Her ring is an oval-cut London Blue Topaz in an unusual sterling silver setting. Very pretty."

"I remember how unusual that ring is. And the necklace?"

"Oval-cut London Blue, with a small diamond at the tip. I'm going to run the serial number on the watch, but it's a long shot. Mike's going to bring everything over later."

"Yeah, but long-shots have won the Derby. Tell you what, see what you find out. And if you don't get any where, and she doesn't wake up, we'll call AMW—I'm sure they'll be glad to do a feature on her."

"Good idea. I'll call you if I get anything."

"Thanks."

"Ten-four. I'll let the Sheriff know what's going on too."

_Chapter Three:_

Matt turns back to his Jane Doe, willing her to wake up. He gently brushes a stray wisp of hair from her eyes. "Why won't you wake up, Snowbird," he whispers.

A soft knock on the door interrupts his train of thought. He looks up to find his father, Jesse, standing there. A few inches shorter than his oldest son, with a slightly stockier build, he has a graying brown hair and beard, but the same piercing blue eyes. His voice has a much more pronounced Western accent, "Can I come in?"

"Sure. May as well. I'm not getting any response from her, yet."

Jesse steps to the other side of the bed, next to the window, and picks up her right hand, lightly chaffing it. "Her hand's cold," he comments softly.

"I know. She's recovering from hypothermia." Having almost died from it himself once, and treated cases of it many times, Matt knows first-hand how painful the recovery can be. **Probably just as well she's unconscious**, he thinks with a slight frown as he looks at her.

"Any fever?"

"Not yet, and no sign of infection from the stab wound."

"That's good. How badly was she hurt?"

"Well you can see the bruises for yourself. The stab wound barely missed her heart, but punctured her left lung."

"Any sign of rape?"

"No, thank goodness. The only thing Doctor Montgomery found is that her left knee is a replacement. So far nothing on the local missing person check. Claudia's expanding the search and going to run the serial number of her watch: a Rolex."

Jesse nods as he continues to lightly chafe her hand, watching his son as much as her, as he kisses her left hand again, "Why do I have the feeling that your interest in her is more than professional?"

"I can't explain it, Dad. But the Chinese have a saying that once you save a person's life, you're responsible for them. If I hadn't decided to take a few hours break and take a ride, she would've died out there. And for some reason, I feel some sort of a connection to this girl—like I've known her all my life. It's like when I look at her, I've seen her before. She looks so familiar." Matt finally lifts his eyes from her to look at his Dad, "What brings you to town?"

"Cody is spending a couple of days with your mother—sort of a chance to see if maybe he can connect with her, apparently he's trying to take your advice. And while out riding yesterday, I found something that might have some bearing on your Jane Doe. I stopped at Ranger Headquarters to tell you, but Izzy told me you've been here for the last two days, leaving Tim in charge."

"What did you find?"

"Not far from where you found her, I came across a horse and dog. They're in the barn at Ranger Headquarters." Jesse looks at his son, who is completely focused on him now, "Dog is a big silver gray, weighs a good hundred pounds, in good condition, with ice blue eyes. Looks to be a Malamute/Husky mix. Won't let me get close, but he's got a dark blue nylon collar with Rabies and ID tags."

"And the horse?"

"Quarter Horse. Judging by his conformation, Foundation. You know—about fifteen hands, stocky build—bull-dog type. Really pretty and very gentle."

"Could you catch him?"

"He let me come up to him. He's been fed and put in a stall at Ranger Headquarters. The dog won't leave him."

"Good leads."  
"Nice looking horse. Copper palomino, snow-white mane and tail, blaze, and socks on all four legs. And get this—he's a stallion."

"That's weird."

"Tell me about it. He's in pretty good shape. When I found him, he was caught in a piece of old barbed wire, you know how that can be found lying around. Stood absolutely motionless while I cut him loose. Got a few scratches on his left ankle, but nothing serious. He's sleek and well-fed, but not fat. In a hunter-clip."

"Tacked up?"

"Nice looking Western saddle, rust-colored with a sheepskin pad, well-worn. Sheepskin under a blue/green blanket. Cotton string cinch. Had a lariat, one of those old rawhide ones like you find that are handmade, blankets, sleeping bag, and some emergency supplies—food for horse, dog, and rider, water, pretty good first aid kit. Anyone reported an abandoned trailer anywhere?"

"Not that I know of. Can you ID the maker of the saddle?"

"It's a Virginian. Matching breast-plate and leather saddle-bags."

"No ID?"

"You wish it were that easy. Wearing a dark brown hanger, bosal, and had cotton reins. She obviously takes care of her horse."

"Maybe he's the key. Can't be to many Palomino Quarter Horse stallions that aren't either on a farm or in the show ring."

"I'm one step ahead of you. His registration number is tattooed in his upper-lip." Jesse pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket, "Here it is. Keep me posted." He looks down at the still figure, still holding her hand, "Get well soon, Snowbird. But your horse and dog are safe."

_Chapter Four:_

Once alone, Matt gets back on the phone to the Sheriff's Office, "Claudia—I need you to do me a favor. Get on the phone to the AQHA and ask them to run this registration number. Tell them that this is a law-enforcement matter and you need to know the name of the owner. Dad was here and told me he found a palomino stallion, with that number in his upper-lip."

"Ten-four."

Hanging up, Matt once again stares at the unconscious girl before getting up to stare out the window. For early December, the fourth, it's the usual chilly—with the high today of about fifty-six, with a low tonight of thirty-one. There was snow predicted last night, but it was a little to warm (at thirty-six), so it turned into a slushy mess. The Rangers have worked several wrecks, tourists mostly not knowing how to drive in the mess, nothing bad though—so he was able to remain here at the hospital. Ski season will be picking up shortly before Christmas and go until March or April. Then there'll be a bit of a spring lull until the summer tourist season picks up.

But he can't explain why this young woman has affected him so much. Why he feels so protective of her. Why he's so drawn to her. Why he's here, with her, when he should be out working and saving lives. Why he finds himself falling in love with her without even knowing her name.

_Chapter Five:_

Her first sensation is of pain—sharp and intense—in her chest, causing her to gasp and open her eyes in weak protest. She finds herself looking up at a white-washed ceiling. Turning her head a fraction to the left, she finds someone sitting at her side, his large hand carefully wrapped around her own, but not bothering the IV. She can tell that his hair is almost a white blond, but not much else.

Sensing that she's awake, Matt leans closer so that she can see him without straining, careful to keep his voice low and soft, "So—Snowbird's awake. How are you feeling?"

She tries to speak, but her throat is dry and scratchy from intubation. Sensing it, he picks up a plastic cup and fills it with water from a pitcher, then holds the straw to her lips so she can sip the cool water. "Better," he asks when she finishes about half of it.

"A—a little. Where—am—I?"

"Barton Hospital in South Tahoe." Matt finds himself amazed at the color of her eyes: a deep royal blue that reminds him of a sapphire that his maternal grandmother owns. "How much pain are you in?"

"Chest—hurts--cold--achy--"

"You had a nasty case of hypothermia, which is why you're achy. Do you need some more cover?"

She manages to nod her head, "Please--"

Matt immediately pulls the extra blanket up and carefully tucks it around her, being extremely careful of the stab wound and drainage tube, "Better?"

"Yes—thank you--"

"You're welcome." But Matt doesn't miss the wariness in those beautiful blue eyes, so he hastens to reassure her, "It's okay, Snowbird. Whoever did this to you—you're safe. I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you."

His voice is kind, gentle, reassuring—as are his brilliant blue eyes, causing her to relax as she swallows a couple of times, "Who—are you?"  
"Matthew Hawkes, CO of the High Mountain Rangers. But call me Matt," his smile is warm and boyish, easing her fears.

A nurse comes in, stopping Matt from questioning her further.

Her vitals are a bit below normal, but she reassures the nurse that that is normal for her. Doctor Montgomery comes in to check her out. They talk for a moment before he asks Matt to step out.

The doctor listens to her lungs, making sure she's breathing better, and heart (telling her she's got a slight heart murmur—which she already knew about), checks her reflexes and asks a few questions to determine the extent of her concussion. But she refuses to answer any questions of a more personal nature. Finally, he looks at her in quiet sympathy, "You know—if you're in trouble—you could do worse than to trust Matt. He's an absolutely great guy. I've known him for two years, treated him and his brother a time or two, other Rangers too."

She eyes the doctor warily, "I—I don't know--"

"Matt is one of the finest men you'd ever want to know, takes after his Dad. He's the one who found you, and hasn't left your side since. He'll help you any way he can."

"It's—hard—to trust--"

"I understand. But trust me, if you're in trouble—Matt's the one you want backing you up. Look I've got to let him in here, or he'll break the door down. He's got some questions."

"I'm—sure--," she manages a weak smile.

_Chapter Six:_

Matt comes back in as the nurse is helping Jane Doe (or Snowbird, as he calls her) sip some lukewarm chicken soup. For the first time, she gets a good look at her rescuer. He's tall, at least six feet three—she guesses (and she's a pretty good judge), and lean with broad shoulders and well-muscled arms. With his pale blond hair and light blue eyes, he's actually pretty cute. And the white ski pants and black turtleneck accent a slender build. **Not bad looking**, she thinks with a faint smile, then frowns when she notices the limp in his left leg, not much—but her sharp eyes pick up on it immediately.

"Feeling better," Matt asks, sitting down in his chair.

"A little. How long--"

"Two days. I found you on Saturday, the second. Today's Tuesday, the fourth." He glances at his watch, "It's about one in the afternoon."

"You've been—here--the whole time?"

"Of course, where else would I be? Besides, whoever it is that tried to kill you may learn that you're still alive and try and come back to finish the job. Even though I've kept what happened out of the paper." He doesn't bother to tell her that he's got his nine millimeter in the pocket of his parka, within easy reach, just in case. "So, Snowbird—can you tell me your name? And don't try that amnesia bit. That only works in the soaps," he grins.

She relaxes a little, now more at ease, **it's strange how comfortable I am with him**, "How did--you find me?"

"I was taking a bit of a break and had taken Spirit, my Mustang, for a ride near Ranger Station. I saw something lying in the snow and it was you, like a bird that had fallen from its nest. I made sure you were still alive, wrapped you in some blankets, and radioed for help. Fortunately, Robin and Jim were on duty, so we brought you here. Robin's a nurse. Naturally we all knew what to do."

"You've been--here ever since?"

"Of course." Matt notices how she flinches when he once again picks up her hand, caressing it gently, being careful of the IV. He's careful to keep his voice low, gentle, "Who hurt you so bad you can't trust me?"

"Can—I--?"

"Of course."

"Baxter."

"Who?"

"Steve Baxter."

"Who is he?"

"A wife murderer--he killed one--of my high--school classmates. I found--out he's here, with his new girlfriend."

"So what happened?"

"He jumped me—we got into a fight. I managed to get—away. The last thing I remember—was falling out of the saddle. I--was so cold."

"I see." Matt is silent for a few minutes, idly watching her as she turns to stare out the window. Then he speaks again, "Look, is there anyone I can call for you? Family? Boyfriend?"

She shakes her blond head, "No--Mom and Dad are--back in D. C.-- no one else."

"You're alone? I find that hard to believe." He can't help but tease her a bit, "I mean—you're an attractive woman."

She blushes furiously, "Thanks--but you're the--one who's delirious--if you can say about me--right now. But—to answer—your question--I've been—on my own—since high school. I—can call Mom and Dad—but they're both busy--"

"To busy to see about their daughter," Matt can't hide his worry. The second something happens to either him or Cody, Jesse's right there.

"I—don't want to—worry them—there was another man—in here—I remember—a voice—not yours."

Matt grins, "That was my Dad. He stopped by Ranger Station to tell me something, then came here. He found something."

"Golden Prince—Frost--"

"Who?"

"My horse—dog--"

"What do they look like?"

"Palomino—Quarter Horse—silver gray Malamute/Husky—mix"

_Chapter Seven:_

The realization hits Matt like a ton of bricks. No wonder he knows the girl. _Kristina Lynn Morrell_, only child of Georgia's high-ranking Senior Senator (Republican) Gervis Morrell.

He first saw her years ago, when they were both fourteen, at the World Quarter Horse Show in Fort Worth, Texas. Against intense odds, she rode a palomino stallion against the pros in several events. They took the Super Horse, returning the next year to set a record for number of points scored.

He'd been invited to go with a friend who's family raised Quarter Horses and had a couple they were showing. And he was taken with how well she rode against some pretty stiff competition in several events (even catch riding in a couple). Then when he met her back in the barn area, he was absolutely taken with her—beautiful and so sweet.

A year later, John gave him a copy of the "Quarter Horse Journal" in which she berated judges and exhibitors about the state of Western Pleasure—horses moving with their noses almost touching the ground and in a slow, shuffling gait. After that, she turned her back on the breed she loved.

Three years later, he saw her again—in the Winner's Circle of the Kentucky Derby, holding the bridle of a tall white colt. That horse, with his giant ground-covering stride, swept the Triple Crown (setting records in both the Derby and Belmont), along with several other races. He was Horse of the Year, and her Trainer, twice. He even set a record for the Grand National Steeplechase at Aintree in England.

Then, as if that were a final bow—they vanished. Last he'd heard, they (with her riding) were making their mark in both Show Jumping and Dressage, at the Grand Prix Levels.

Matt snaps back to the present when he realizes that she's asks him a question. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, "My mind was a million miles away."

A raised eyebrow tells him that she's amused, but lets it slide, "I—asked if—they're—okay?"

"Your horse has some minor cuts from where he was caught in some old barbed wire. Hope he's up on his tetanus shots. If you'll tell me where their feed and all is, I'll be glad to make sure they get it."

She names a cabin on a nearby road and tells him he'll find everything there and that the keys are in her saddlebags. She also reassures him that the stallion is up on his shots.

"Dad says that your dog wouldn't let him get close. But they're both eating."

"Frost's previous owner--was abusive—he doesn't—trust men--"

Matt then takes a deep breath, causing her to look at him curiously, "What should I call you—Miss. Morrell? Kristina?"

She looks at him in amazement, "How--"

"I saw you ride at the World Show. You're good. When you said Golden Prince, I made the connection."

Kris smiles in admiration, "Not bad. Kris is fine—it got shortened many years ago by family and teachers."

A nurse coming in to get some medical information interrupts them, for a few minutes. Matt takes advantage of the lull to step outside and call Ranger Headquarters. Robin Kelly, who's taken quite a liking to the sweet-natured Quarter Horse, immediately answers the phone and is stunned to learn who their rescue is. She doesn't hesitate to volunteer to run over to the cabin and get the horse and dog's food, as well as some personal items for Kris that she'll bring later. Then he calls Claudia and tells her to cancel the search since they know who she is now.

Matt returns to his chair, determined to get some answers. But before he can speak, Kris has a question of her own, "When can I—get out of here?"

"What's the hurry, Snowbird?"

"Baxter. I don't—want him—to get away--"

"He almost killed you!"

"He's not--getting another—chance--"

"Damn right he's not!"

"You—don't understand--"

"Snowbird, you're lying here with a hole in your chest, lots of bruises. You're in no shape to go after anyone," Matt's voice becomes unexpectedly firm, actually startling her a bit.

"Watch me—I've been through—worse."

"Not with me watching your back, you haven't."

Kris sighs in resignation, "Look—I appreciate—all you've done—but your obligation's over."

"What if I don't want it to be," he whispers softly.  
"Look—no offense—but I'm a loner—always have been—always will be."

"That may be, but you need help. Someone to back you up and knows the area."

"No. I can't ask you--"

Matt gently brushes a stray wisp of hair from her forehead, "You're not asking, I'm telling. You're stuck with me."

"And if I refuse?"

"To bad, so sad," Matt grins, standing up, "Look—I've got to run, but I'll be back later. If you need anything, my card's on the bedside table. Call Ranger Headquarters, or my cell-phone."

_Chapter Eight:_

Once alone, Kris makes a couple of quick phone calls. Her source confirms that Baxter, confident that she's dead, is enjoying the sites of Tahoe, with his new girlfriend. **Just wait**, she thinks with a grimace of pain, **You caught me by surprise once, but never again. And if I'd been riding Silver, you wouldn't have then. He'd have made mince meat out of you. You're going to pay for what you did to Liz**.

Then, she thinks back to Matt. It was nice to wake up with someone here beside her. Usually, she wakes up alone in a strange hospital room. **And he's cute to boot**, she smiles to herself. He surprises her, being so gentle and concerned about a more or less complete stranger.

But experience taught her a long time ago to be leery of men, which is why she made the choice a long time ago to be alone. At fourteen, she was almost raped by a man working for her grandfather. When she decided to help capture her assailant, the course of her life was changed forever.

Fortunately, she was blessed with a private school that, since she was a Straight A honor student with a high IQ, allowed her to show her horse. She took the exit exam at fifteen and applied for early admission to a small Baptist college (which had flexible class schedules that allowed her to be with her horses as much as possible). She earned her Masters in Criminal Justice five years later. All during that, she concentrated on her horses.

Now, she has a very active consulting practice, helping police and sheriff's departments, along with anyone else who needs it, by putting her uncanny investigating and profiling skills to good use on all sorts of crimes. Domestic violence and serial predators are her special areas of expertise, but cold cases are her passion. She's also a trained EMT (which her father thought would be a good idea since she travels so much—mostly on her own) and done quite a bit of Search and Rescue in many different types of terrain and weather, which she learned from her maternal grandfather and her father's half-brother (who lives in Kenya).

Too, Kris is one of the wealthiest women in the world—having inherited a large trust fund at the young age of eighteen. Wise investment choices and counselors allow her plenty of money to travel, donate large sums of money to various charities, and help those in need.

But she's alone. Most men are only interested in her money or body. So she's given up on romance, preferring to concentrate on her riding and consulting practice.

She has to give Matt credit though. It was so nice to wake up with someone at her side, looking at her like she's the most important thing in his life. And he was so gentle and patient, even cracking a few jokes. It's like he genuinely cares about her. **Yeah right**, she thinks with a grimace of pain, trying to get more comfortable.

_Chapter Nine:_

Arriving back at Ranger Headquarters, Matt answers questions from the rest of the Rangers before sending Robin and Jim to the cabin to get Kris some things, along with horse and dog food. Then he sits down at his desk to do some long delayed paperwork (the bane of being the CO).

Once done, he takes a long shower and changes clothes while waiting. When Robin returns, he's ready to go. He spends a few minutes feeding the gentle Quarter Horse, whom he takes a real liking to, then blankets him before turning him into the corral. Frost, who seems to have accepted him, eats readily, but chooses to sleep on the porch in a nice dark blue dog bed that they found in the cabin. Picking up the over-night bag, he heads for town—with a quick stop at Stoney's General Store.

About six, Kris is idly staring out the window when she hears familiar footsteps outside the door of the hospital room. The door is opened and she gets a whiff of Aspen cologne, reminding her immediately of the mountains and outdoors. Turning her head, she finds Matt setting her royal blue and gray tote bag on the floor in the closet, and a plastic bag in the second chair. He also has a large bouquet of white roses (complete with baby's breath and fern leaves) in a delicate crystal vase in his arms, which he sets on the nightstand.

**Be still my beating heart**, she thinks with a smile to herself. If she thought he was cute before, he's absolutely devastating now: well worn blue jeans that hug his butt to perfection, a white turtleneck that accents his broad shoulders, and white blond hair carefully combed into place. She gets a grip on herself with effort, **If he's trying to wear me down, it's working**.

"How are you feeling," he asks, unaware of the effect he's having on her.

"Better. The nurse helped me get a shower and wash my hair. What are you doing back so soon?"

Matt notices that her hair has dried into shimmering golden waves, "You look like you feel better. Anyway, I asked Robin to check on things at your cabin. Jim got your horse and dog food while she got you some personal things."

"Tell them I said thanks." Kris nods to the flowers, "And thank you for the roses. I love white roses."

"Beautiful flowers for a beautiful lady," Matt grins, "Have you called your folks?"

"I got hold of Dad in between committee meetings," Kris grimaces, "I just told him I was going to stay here for a while, do some skiing. I don't want to worry him and Mom, she's sort of the nervous type. I hope you don't mind, but I ended up giving him your cell-phone number for the time being. Since they won't let me have mine in here. Just don't tell him what really happened, please?"

"I don't mind a bit. Do you ski?"

"I'm probably a strong intermediate, low advanced. I enjoy it. The cold air's actually good for my asthma," she grins at Matt with just a hint of mischief in her dark blue eyes, "I'm certainly not on the same level as someone who grew up in these mountains and learned to ski before he could walk."

"All right," Matt laughs, "Who's been talking?"

"The nurses. Apparently you're a frequent visitor here and something of a local legend. Even the doctor sings your praises."

Matt blushes, "Don't believe everything you heard."

"It was all great." Kris then changes the subject, "How's Golden Prince? And Frost?"

"They're both fine. I fed them and put a blanket on Golden Prince before turning him out for a while."

"Did you give them their supplements?"

"You mean those things in the little sealed cups? I did. Never seen anything like that. Even for your dog."

"SmartPacs. Makes it easier to keep them straight and in the right doses."

"Your dog won't go inside, so he's been installed on the front porch."

Kris nods, "That's nothing new. Being a Malamute/Husky mix, he loves being outdoors, especially in cold weather."

Matt reaches for the plastic bag he brought in with him, "I brought you a few things from Stoneys."

"What?"

"Our local one-stop store. Nothing much, just some things I thought you'd enjoy." Since she's hampered by the IV, Matt pulls out a selection of magazines (including a couple of horse ones), a couple of paperbacks (light reading), a bottle of lightly scented hand and body lotion (freesia—her favorite), a soft brush and comb, a detailed map of the area, and a small box of gourmet chocolates.

The thoughtfulness of the gifts cause tears to spring to Kris' eyes, making her turn away from Matt so that he won't see them. Concerned that he's upset her, he moves to sit on the edge of the bed beside her and pulls her into his arms, allowing her to rest against his broad chest (like he's done for his brother several times). He strokes her silky hair in a soothing motion until she calms, taking a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," he whispers softly.

Kris finally pulls back, ashamed at breaking down, "It's not your fault. I'm usually stronger than this. It's just that this the first time in a long time anyone's ever done something so sweet for me."

"Get used to it, Snowbird. Face it, you're stuck with me—whether you want to be or not. I'm not going anywhere." He eases her back to the soft pillows and tucks the covers around her, "Get some rest."

"Wait—will you stay with me—for a while--"

"Try and stop me."

Kris drifts into the first peaceful sleep she's had in a long time, for once uninterrupted by nightmares.

Matt remains at her side, holding her hand, until the nurses run him out about nine. Before leaving, he brushes a gentle kiss across her cheek, causing her to smile in her sleep, and places a single rose on her pillow.

And that sets the pattern for the next couple of days. Matt calls first thing in the morning, checking to see what kind of night she had. Then in the evening, he returns—usually with some sort of small gift, touching Kris with his thoughtfulness.

Robin Kelly, the sole female Ranger, and a cute blond, comes with him Thursday—anxious to meet the the girl who's captured her friend's heart. They immediately hit it off, laughing and joking with one another (which is unusual for Kris). She fills her in on doings at the Ranger Station, including her budding romance with Jim Cutler. In short order, she feels that she already knows the Rangers and could probably describe each of them in her sleep. Robin also agrees to take Golden Prince out for some exercise, just a bit of light riding in the snow, so that he won't get out of shape.

Matt even brings her a scanner so that she can listen to their calls, not being quite so bored. So she learns a lot. She doesn't bother to tell him that she's also got some training in Search and Rescue, and that Frost is certified for it. There's no need, since she won't be seeing him again once she leaves the hospital.


	2. Chapter 2

"HIGH MOUNTAIN RANGERS"

TITLE: "HIGH MOUNTAIN ROMANCE"

AUTHOR: KRISTI

PART 2

_Disclaimer: Don't own them. I wish in Matt's case. No harm intended. Thanks to Kris Peterson for the background on Matt's knee injuries and how he came to join the Rangers._

_Chapter Ten:_

By Friday morning, Kris is about to go stir crazy. She wants to get up and walk around some, to loosen the stiffness out of her bad knee, but the nurse refuses to let her get up, even after having removed the tube from the stab wound in her chest earlier this morning, giving her some lame excuses. She's about to get angry and get up by herself when she hears a familiar voice in the hall speaking to one of the nurses. **How does he do that**, she wonders sourly, **show up just as I'm about ready to strangle someone**, as she settles back into the pillows.

Matt hesitantly sticks his head in. He'd asked the nurses to call him when she was ready to get up, but had been delayed by an early morning rescue (didn't even have time for a quick call). And according to the nurse, she's fit to be tied. "Is it safe to come in," he chuckles.

"Depends on your definition of safe," Kris sighs with a tired smile.

Coming in, he tosses his white jacket over the back of the second chair and looks at her curiously. She definitely looks better—color's better, eyes brighter—but can tell she's upset, "What's wrong, Snowbird?"

Kris looks at him with irritation in her dark blue eyes, "I need to move around, but I can't get anyone to help me. I swear—if I didn't know better—they were putting me off."

"Getting stiff?"

"Yeah—I've got a bad knee. Stiffens up if I remain still for to long. And it's getting bad."

"How about if I give you a hand? I'm here and certainly don't mind," Matt offers, picking up a robe from where it's lying across the foot of the bed.

She glares at him, then realization hits--causing her to give with a sigh, "You asked them to delay—didn't you?"

Matt grins as he checks that the IV's been disconnected, his boyish charm melting her heart, "Guilty as charged. So book me."

Kris shakes her head as she throws the covers off and swings her legs off the bed, causing Matt to wolf whistle, "Nice legs."

She glances down at her slim legs, with her left knee covered in scars, then shoots back, "I can say the same about your butt in those jeans you wear. As my grandmother would say—'Suh, you're giving me a case of the vapors'," she drawls in a mock Southern accent. To her delight, he blushes, turning beet red. She can't help but laugh, "Turn about's fair play."

Laughing, he helps her into the robe, then steadies her with a strong arm around her slender waist as she stands, being ready to catch her if she stumbles. She takes a couple of steps and thinks she's going to be okay, then she gets dizzy. Fortunately, he's got razor sharp reflexes and catches her before she barely slumps, easing her back to the bed, his voice low and soothing, "Take it easy for a second, then try again. We're in no hurry." She takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to get her head to quit swimming, then stands again. This time, she makes it.

**She's not walking fast, but at least she's up**, Matt thinks as he walks beside her. She makes it to the end of the hall and is forced to rest a minute—leaning heavily on him, before she goes back to her room. Once there, she collapses back in the bed, not even letting him take off her robe.

"How'd you hurt your knee," Matt asks as he covers Kris back up.

"Two years ago, I was schooling a horse for a friend of mine and another horse spooked, at his own shadow, and ran into us. In the confusion, I got kicked and the knee shattered. Total replacement. One month rehab—was told six to eight weeks. Worked my butt off to get better. Riding two months later."

Matt absently rubs his own left knee, "Cold weather? Weather changes?"

"Naturally. But staying active helps. I do a lot of walking, run some sprints so I can run down the bad guys if I'm not on a horse. I wear weights on my ankles to build up the strength. And all the riding I do helps of course."

Matt nods in understanding, "I blew mine twice: high and college football games. And once since I've been with the Rangers—trying to rescue a trapped deer. My rope broke as I was backing down the cliff—landed wrong."

"Ouch."

"Tell me about it. Some days, if I don't take a pain-pill, I can't hardly get out of bed. I keep a bottle by my bed."

"Ultracet?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Dad takes it for his back and knees, non-narcotic so it doesn't dull your reflexes. Personally, I take Lortab when it gets bad. Otherwise, I sort of grin and bear it, sometimes I wear a brace on it when riding. Guiding a thousand pound horse around a course of jumps or through a Grand Prix Freestyle doesn't leave me much room for error." Kris changes the subject, "I heard the rescue on the scanner. How's the kid?"

"Chilled to the bone, right below hypothermia. But we got him before permanent damage was done. His mother read him the riot act. Just like Dad would have if it'd been Cody. Fortunately, he never did anything so stupid. Hell, he's more at home in these mountains than I am."

"Your little brother," Kris remembers from their early conversations.

"Seven years and seven days, to be exact. I was born September 17th, he was born the 24th. I'd been asking for a baby brother ever since I could talk," he chuckles, obviously crazy about his little brother.

"Sounds like you two are close," she comments idly.

"Closer than most siblings. Couldn't ask for a better, or want another," Matt admits, then glances at the chart on the bathroom door, absently noting that her vitals are good, but that she hasn't really eaten anything, "How would you like some real food? There's a deli across the street with great sandwiches."

Kris nods with a grateful smile, "That'd be great."

"Anything in particular?"

"Chicken and bacon, no lettuce or onion, extra tomatoes."

"Mayo?"

"Ranch, on multi-grain, provolone cheese."

"Got it. Chips?"

"No thanks. Diet Coke, lots of ice."

Thirty minutes later, Matt returns with a large deli bag and two drinks, just in time to keep her from refusing the hospital food. Fortunately, the nurses have given him permission to bring her some decent food. They eat in a companionable silence, talking about first one thing then another, but she still won't talk much about her past. But he does find out her passions in life are her horses, her dogs, her criminal consulting work (he wonders about that—what got her interested in it), and starting a farm for raising Quarters and Thoroughbreds (she's passionate about both breeds) back in her home town in Georgia.

The ringing of his cell phone interrupts the conversation. He glances at the message, "Sorry—got to go. Major wreck—people trapped."

"That's fine," Kris waves him on, realizing that duty comes first, "Thanks for lunch. And good luck."

Before he leaves, Matt leans down to brush a lingering kiss across her forehead, "Get some rest, Snowbird. I'll be back ASAP."

But before she can respond, he vanishes out the door.

_Chapter Twelve:_

By three, Kris is bored out of her mind. Though she's got plenty of reading material, and the scanner has captured her attention. She recognizes Matt's firm, clear, unexpectedly commanding, voice over the scanner—issuing orders. Judging by what she's hearing, he really knows his job in what is turning out to be a bad accident and difficult rescue. She glances out the window (having been placed in a private room), but really doesn't see anything. **Face it, you're bored, lonely, and want Matt back**, she sighs, settling into the pillow. Over the last couple of days, she's gotten used to his gentle, undemanding company.

**He's a bit of a contradiction**, she thinks, **Quiet and gentle, laid back and easy going, but at the same time has an air of command, obviously very intelligent. There's also some hidden depths there, some pain—both recent and old. **Having been hurt in the past, she's quick to pick up on it in others. And she's a bit envious of his close relationship to his brother and father, they're all he talks about—along with the Rangers.

A tentative knock on the door causes Kris to look over, "Come in."

A tall sandy-haired boy with piercing blue eyes, about seventeen or eighteen, steps in, looking around, causing her to smile warmly, "Sorry—I was looking for Matt Hawkes."

"You're Cody, right? Matt's little brother?"

Cody can't conceal his curiosity about the girl who's captured his brother's interest, for the first time in years, probably since college, so he decides to pay her a little visit, "Uh—yeah."

Kris can't conceal her amusement as she motions towards the scanner on the bedside table, "You may as well keep me company. He's on a rescue, so he'll be here shortly with the victims, just getting them out of the car."

Cody comes in and drops his backpack in the floor before taking the chair his brother has been using, "You mind?"

"Not at all. Save me from being bored out of my ever-loving mind." She notices the dejected look on his face, "Want to talk about it? I know you've been spending some time with your mother. And guessing from your expression, it didn't go well."

He looks up, startled, the only other people who can read him this well are his dad and Matt, "How--"

Kris shakes her head, "It's what I do for a living."

"A shrink," Cody smirks, "Boy you'll have a field day with the three of us."  
"No, criminologist—profiler if you want. Part of it is reading people—judging their moods and thoughts, keeps me out of serious trouble. Knowing what Matt told me about being with your mom, and the expression on your face—just put two and two together."

"Damn you're good," Cody finally laughs a little, though it's forced.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Kris smiles, thinking to herself, **There's a lot of pain here, and judging from what I've seen and have picked up on—has to do with his and Matt's mother. Some old, some recent.**

Cody changes the subject, "How are you feeling?"

"Not bad. They took the chest tube out early this morning, along with disconnecting the IV. And your brother was here earlier, helping me get up and walk some. Also brought me some lunch. He got called out on a rescue," she nods towards the scanner, "I've been listening. He's good."

"The best," Cody smiles with pride.

"I can tell. And I'll tell you something else—you're the best too. The way he talks about you, you're probably his pride and joy."

To her delight, the seventeen year old blushes, "Thanks."

Kris takes a deep breath, deciding to share a little of her own past in order to get the younger Hawkes to open up, sensing that he needs to talk—and what the hell, she's a good listener with nothing else to do. Besides, maybe she can repay Matt a little by helping his little brother. "Cody—I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone. I was adopted at the age of eight. My parents died in a plane crash off Cape Cod, to be honest—I don't even remember them—their names are sort of Irish-sounding. My adoptive father had just retired from the Marines. He made his first run for Governor of Georgia less than a year later. I grew up dividing my time between the Governor's Mansion in Atlanta, his parents' places in Macon and on Sea Island, both luxurious, and my mother's parents' farm in South Central Georgia—very simple and rural. Learned different lessons from each—social skills and graces from his family; hunting, fishing, cooking from hers. Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, but some mothers just aren't cut out to be mothers. My mother's busy being a socialite—ignoring her own rural farming upbringing. I sort of get in her way—I'm not a 'lady' like she is, and didn't do the debutante thing. She owns a formal wear shop in Arlington that caters to other socialites and works in an ER part-time. My father—he's there nearly every time I have a major show. She can't be bothered. When Golden Prince won his first Super Horse, she was in Paris. He was there. Next year, same thing. A few years later at the Kentucky Derby, Dad skipped out on a major Republican Party meeting to watch Silver set a record. Preakness and Belmont—same thing. Mom made it to the Belmont, so she could say she was there when he won the Crown. I seriously doubt that she'll make it to the upcoming Trials, but be rest assured—if we go to Athens, she'll be there—basking in the limelight of having a daughter competing. Dad's already told me he'll be there for all but two—the ones in Reno and Atlanta—which is fine. I guess it's a girl thing—they love their fathers. You and I are lucky—we don't have fathers, we have Dads. But we don't have Moms."

Cody's voice is low and hesitant, "How do you stand it?"

"I'm a loner, by choice. I don't date—because most men are only interested in two things—sex or money, and when I don't put out—they get out. Except I don't have the whole Sierras as my playground. And I don't have a Dad and brother who love me to death and are there every time I sneeze. Instead, I've got an eighteen hand snow white Thoroughbred that's probably smarter than I am, a palomino Quarter Horse with a father complex, and two dogs—a Malamute/Husky cross that considers himself my protector, and a blue Merle collie that thinks she's my best friend," Kris laughs, "But I promise—if I'd have let Matt call, Dad would've been here in a heartbeat. Mom would've bustled in, played the worried parent—just to prove it to everyone, then left to go shopping or down to LA. Dad would've parked his butt right where you're sitting, given me the third degree about what happened, then given Matt the same."

Cody can't help but relax. Matt's right, she's easy to talk to, "So it's not wrong to sort of feel--"

Kris puts her hand on top of the young boy's. **So much pain, God—give me the words to ease it just a little. **She takes a deep breath, "Cody—I can't tell you what to feel. And I don't even pretend to have all the answers, but whatever you feel—you've got every right to it. I don't know what happened to you, but judging from what I've picked up on—it was pretty rotten. So you've got every right to hate her. But if you keep it bottled up inside, it'll eat you up like a cancer. Talk to your Dad, talk to Matt, hell—even talk to me if you want. Go up in the mountains and scream it out if you need to—just get it out. You don't have to make any more effort, if you don't want. You've made enough—the ball's in her court now."

"Do you hate your mother," Cody asks in a small voice.

Kris shrugs, "I'm grateful that she and Dad gave me a home. And her brothers and sisters agreed to sell me the family farm, literally—they're more concerned with money, so I offered twice what a developer wanted. I'm establishing a Quarter Horse and Thoroughbred farm, been working on it since Silver retired from the track. But hate her, no--just sort of ambivalent. I don't have much to do with her, and that's by both of our choices. She doesn't understand what I do, doesn't want to. She doesn't understand my passion for horses." She squeezes his hand lightly, "Apparently your mother doesn't understand yours and Matt's passion for the mountains, or the Rangers." She smiles warmly, "But I'll tell you

something: I'm envious of you—you've got a brother who loves you dearly. And from what he's told me, a Dad who loves you even more. Consider yourself blessed to have such two great guys in your life. Lot of the kids I know, and adults, don't have that."

The crackling of the scanner draws their attention as Matt's clear voice comes over, "Flying Tiger to Base—we're taking two to Barton. One to the morgue."

"Ten-four Flying Tiger," they both recognize Izzy Flower's voice.

Kris glances at Cody, "Bad one. Look, why don't you stick around? Keep me company until he gets here. Catch a ride back to Ranger Station. He'll need to talk, and who better than his little brother?"

Cody laughs, "How'd you get so smart?"

"Old soul in a young body," Kris sighs with a smile, "I have the feeling that you're one too."

Cody then changes the subject, "So—what are your intentions towards my big brother?"

Kris can't help but sigh, "I wondered when you'd get around to that. To be honest, I don't know. It's been nice, having him with me. But I've got a lot of baggage—that may be to much for him to deal with. He wouldn't be the first one who couldn't handle it. Cody—when I was fourteen, I was almost raped by a guy who was working for my grandfather—he fired him for stealing, he tried to rape me to get back at him. I fought him off, kicked him in the balls if you want to know the truth—according to Sheriff Dixon, I crippled the guy for life. And he's since developed AIDS while in prison, after having been the victim of predators himself. That changed my whole life—I helped the cops catch him and have since devoted my life to catching the guys the cops can't, or won't. Stopping them from hurting others and bringing closure to the victims and their families."

"A bounty hunter," Cody asks, remembering the time he, his Dad, and brother spent in San Fransisco.

Kris shakes her head, "No—it's a bit more complicated than that. I have my Master's in Criminal Justice—my thesis was on Post Traumatic Stress in the Victims of Violent Crime—actually now being published. I help law enforcement agencies—like the Rangers—or others when they have weird crimes. My specialties are Serial Killers and Rapists, Domestic Violence, and Cold Cases. As bad as it sounds, I try to get into their heads and figure out why they do what they do—victim, method of killing, disposal of the body, whatever—it helps me figure who they are and identify them, hopefully stopping them before they kill or rape again. I'm damn good at what I do. I also track down some of them—personally. I'm licensed to carry a concealed weapon and I'm damn good shot. I've also been trained as a hostage negotiator. And I've done some search and rescue work, mainly mounted in South Georgia."

"Wow. Does Matt know?"

"Some of it. Little hard to resist those brilliant blue eyes of his when he locks them on you." Kris reaches out to tousle Cody's sandy hair, "You look like him. Not as tall and broad shouldered, but the same facial features. Even if I hadn't seen your picture, I would've known you two are brothers the minute you stuck your head in. I guess you look more like your Dad though—height, build, and hair color."

Cody can't help but relax, "Now what?"

"Good question. I need to catch Baxter, he's got the death penalty waiting for him back in Georgia, but right now—I'm in no shape. According to my source, he's still playing tourist with his new girl friend."

"Why don't you let Matt and the Rangers help you?"

Kris shakes her head a little. He's got faith in his brother and the Rangers, which from everything she's heard is well justified, "It's a little more complicated than that."

"Talk to me," he commands, sounding just like his older brother.

**What the hell**, she thinks sourly. "Cody--I didn't go to school like normal kids. Even then, I was a loner. I went to a small private school—great teachers, strong academics and fine arts—still love to sing and draw, flexible hours—which worked out fine, since I was so involved with showing Golden Prince in Open AQHA competition—couldn't show him in Youth since he's a stallion. I had a few friends, but Liz was my best. We were the same age, she just didn't like horses, but that was fine."

She thinks back to that time in her life, "She married a guy she met at college. I saw the signs when she introduced me to him right after they met: possessiveness, quick temper,. . .then after they got married, he cut her off—no contact with either me or her parents, typical abusive spouse pattern. Two years later, she went missing."

Cody senses where this is headed, "Murdered?"

"Yep. I found her—what was left of her. Her parents and the sheriff's department organized searches." Kris tousles his hair again, "We don't have a group like the Rangers in Macon County, Georgia. Bunch of volunteers on foot, ATVs, and horses. She died of blunt force trauma to the head, and was seven months pregnant. I was on Silver, with Frost, when we saw the buzzards overhead. We followed them to an old deserted cemetery in the middle of nowhere, and that's the first time I've ever lost my stomach at a crime scene. It was summer and she'd been missing two weeks. Use your imagination. He vanished. I promised her parents at the service that I'd find him. Been tracking him off and on ever since. Tell me something, if something happens to your brother—don't you want to find the one responsible?"

"Sure."

"Then you know why I can't let it go. He murdered a woman pregnant with his child," Kris sighs, "And unfortunately—this is a trend I'm noticing more and more in violent crimes—pregnant women vanishing, being murdered by their husbands or fathers of their children."

"What are you going to do?"

"Go after him, as soon as I get my strength back. Right now, he thinks I'm dead—body not found. That gives me an advantage."

Cody make a mental note to talk to Matt. He's sure that his big brother isn't going to let her go after him alone.

Both their ears perk at the sound of the ambulance, but his can tell that the Ranger's Blazer is right behind it. She catches his eye, "Why don't you go find your brother?"

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not a bit. Go on. Your brother needs you," her smile's warm and caring.

_Chapter Thirteen:_

**I hate DUIs**, Matt thinks with a grimace of anger and exasperation as he wipes a hand through his sun-bleached blond hair. Typical, the driver walks away without a scratch, but a family wiped out. Mother and ten year old child survive, father killed on impact. Both survivors in critical condition—not sure if they'll even make it. He can't help but have a flashback to when he and Cody almost lost Jesse to T. J. Cousins. How would he have survived loosing his Dad? Cody almost had a nervous breakdown as it was. But he stayed strong--for both of them. Fortunately, Merlin Pierce pulled him out of his funk and convinced him to try out for the Rangers—giving him something to focus on while his Dad was recovering. Proudest day of his life was when he walked into the hospital room and dropped his brand new badge into Jesse's hand. Two days later, his father swore him in—over Jackie's dead body (she didn't speak to him for two months after that—no big loss there though).

He glances at his blood-stained pants and sweater and decides to change clothes before going to see Kris. Fortunately, he keeps a spare change in the Blazer (they all do—just in case something happens). He sends Robin, Jim, Frank, and Tim back to Ranger Station to relax a bit—this one was rough on all of them.

Matt finds Cody waiting on him when he emerges from the bathroom, looking and feeling a bit better, "What are you doing here?"

"Had to check out that girl you're so interested in," Cody laughs up, then sobers, "You're right—she's nice. Easy to talk to talk too."

"You and Mom?"

Cody shakes his head, "I'm sorry Matt, but I can't anymore. I just got tired and walked out. I ended up here, looking for you. And talked to Kris."

Matt stares at his brother in amazement, "You—talked--to someone besides me and Dad?"

Cody shrugs, "I know it sounds funny, but yeah. She understands, and helped me realize what I'm feeling's okay. She and her mother don't get along either."

Matt sighs in resignation and follows his brother down the hall towards the elevators, "So what do you think of her?"

Cody looks up at his big brother and grins, "I like her. She's really sweet. She was listening to the scanner when I walked in. Made some comments about you."

Matt turns his brother to look at him when they're alone in the elevator, "Come on Code—I know something's bothering you? Is it something about Kris?"

Cody takes a deep breath, "Matt--she's going after that guy, the one who tried to kill her. Alone."

"Damn, I was afraid of that," Matt sighs.

"What are you going to do," he asks anxiously.

"Well—she's not going after him by herself, even if I have to hog tie her. Like it or not, I'm going to help her."

"Good for you." Cody then grins up at his older brother, breaking the tension, "Course I don't see what she sees in you. I'm the cute one in the family."

Matt tousles Cody's sandy hair as they reach the hospital room door. If he likes her, he knows she's alright. He's about the best judge of character he knows, next to his Dad of course.

Kris looks up as the door opens. She can immediately tell Matt's exhausted, drained, by the accident. But she doesn't push him. He collapses into his chair, "How are you feeling?"

"Better. But shouldn't I be asking you that--one dead, two badly hurt?"

"And a drunk driver who walks away without a scratch," he finishes quietly.

"Look—why don't you let Cody take you back to the Ranger Station? You need to talk, and I'm willing to bet he's willing to listen. You don't have to keep me company."

Matt looks up with pain-filled brilliant blue eyes, "What I need right now is something I don't think Cody, or even Dad, can give me."

Kris gives up with a sigh. As much as she's tried to remain distant, to not get attached, to the good-looking Ranger, her heart's already very much involved. She pushes up in the bed and opens her arms.

Moving to the edge of the bed, Matt collapses into her arms, burying his face in her shoulder. She strokes his silky hair in a soothing, calming movement and whispers soft words of reassurance.

Kris glances over his shoulder at the door to find Cody standing there watching silently. She puts a finger to her lips with a soft smile, reassuring him that he's okay. She motions towards the chair as she resumes the gentle caress. **How many times have I done this to horses—especially Silver? Or the victims and families of victims. But never to someone I'm falling in love with**, she thinks with a sigh. But this is different—she's already half in love.

Cody drops into the chair and watches his brother relax into the slender girl's embrace. He notices her soft touch and words, like she's done it a million times. **He's always been the strong one. But now, he needs someone**, he muses, **but who's been there for him in the past? Me? Dad? Jim? **

Kris realizes that his breathing has slowed and evened out, telling her that he's drifted off to sleep. Cody moves to wake him, but she stops him with a whisper, "He's fine."  
"Are you?"

"I'm fine," she's not about to admit her chest is killing her, not wanting to worry either one of them, "Right now, he just needs to be held, reassured that someone's here just for for him."

"He's always the one everyone looks to when all hell breaks loose. The Commander, best tracker, best climber, . . .you name it. Whenever someone needs him, he's there for them. Calming upset family members, standing up to the bad guys. Being my big brother."

"Everyone needs someone, Cody," Kris reminds him gently, "Even big strong mountain men like your brother." She catches his curious glance, "What?"

"What is it about you? I find myself opening up to you about Mom—which I've never done with anyone but Matt and Dad. Then this--," he motions towards his brother.

Kris smiles softly, "I've always had a way with strays. Dogs, horses. . .you name it, they're drawn to me. Guess that even extends to tough old mountain men."

Cody can't help but laugh, "Dad's going to love you."

"I work with the victims of violent crime, and their families. Plus I own and ride an eighteen hand Thoroughbred stallion. My dog, Frost, who's staying at Ranger Station, is a rescue. I learned a long time ago that you can't push, if you do—they'll shy. Relax and let them come to you. Take Silver, for example: at eighteen hands, he's a handful and could easily kill you. But because I developed a relationship with him and use a gentle touch and soft voice," she glances at Matt, who's still dozing against her, and smiles at Cody, "much like now—he'll go anywhere I ask, without flinching or balking. You needed to talk, he needed to be held. I just opened up my arms and you both walked right into them. I promise, I don't mind a bit."

After a few minutes, Matt rouses when he feels Kris shifting, trying to ease the pain in her chest. "You okay," he asks softly, brushing a stray wisp of hair from her forehead.

"I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about," Kris is careful to keep her voice low and soothing, "I know you had a rough rescue. I'm here."

Matt looks into those deep blue eyes (the color of Lake Tahoe on a stormy day), "What is it about you, Snowbird?"

"What about me?"

"Cody talked to you. I collapse in your arms. Never--"

Kris smiles, "Because I'm here, I'm a good listener, and you both needed the release." She sits up a little more and allows Matt to rest against her, stroking his hair in a soothing motion, whispering words of reassurance. The more she's around the tall, blue-eyed, good-looking Ranger, the more she finds herself falling in love with him.

Somehow, the brothers find themselves staying at the hospital until almost dark. Matt leaves just long enough to get dinner for the three of them from the deli across the street. The nurses, knowing the them quite well from numerous encounters over the years, are delighted at the budding romance between the handsome Ranger and the injured girl.

Once alone though, Kris starts making her own plans.


	3. Chapter 3

"HIGH MOUNTAIN RANGERS"

"HIGH MOUNTAIN ROMANCE"

AUTHOR: KRISTI

PART 3

_Disclaimer: I wish I owned them. They're owned by the company that produced the show and the wonderful actors (and actress) that portrayed them. I'm merely borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes and will return them unharmed (though I may keep Matt—grin). Thanks again to Kris Peterson for the background material. Kris and any other characters you don't recognize belong to me._

_The comment in this part about God isn't meant to offend any one, just a brief statement of a belief, and not an endorsement of any particular religious faith._

_Chapter Fourteen:_

Early Saturday afternoon, Matt is sitting on the top steps of the Ranger Station, enjoying the relative peace and quiet while talking to his Dad when a cab pulls up in the parking lot. The driver gets out and politely helps his passenger out. To their surprise, Kris gets out—moving slowly and painfully as she pays the driver, who sets a royal blue and gray nylon tote bag on the gravel.

"What the hell are you doing out of the hospital," Matt demands as he jumps down the steps, slipping his arm around her slender waist as he picks up her tote bag.

"I'm here to get Frost and Golden Prince. Then I'm going back to the cabin. I've got things to do."

"You checked yourself out AMA, didn't you," he realizes.

Kris nods her blond head, "Yep. Over the doctor's dead body."

Matt leads the way over to the porch where Jesse is waiting patiently to officially meet the young girl who's captured his oldest son's heart, then makes the introductions, "Dad—I think you remember Kris Morrell. Kris—my Dad, Jesse Hawkes, he's the one you remember from the hospital."

Kris extends her hand politely, "Nice to finally meet you. You and Cody are all Matt talks about. I appreciate you looking after Golden Prince for me."

Jesse, like his son, takes in her pale face and shakiness, "Glad to help out." Together, they urge her up the steps and into a wooden rocking chair.

Kris gratefully sinks into one of the half-a-dozen chairs on the wide front porch, "Thanks." She gives a whistle that both men recognize as a bob-white quail call. A big silver-gray dog (standing about twenty-eight inches at the shoulder and weighing roughly a hundred pounds), appears from the barn area. He pauses, recognizes his owner, then bounds up the steps, his tail wagging happily as he rears up, plants his paws on her knees, then licks her face in joy.

While she spends a few minutes talking to the dog in a low tone, Jesse and Matt study her. She's much to pale, they decide. She's casually dressed: dark blue jeans, white mock turtleneck sweater, a dark blue barn jacket, and black riding/hiking boots with velcro instead of laces (the outfit accents her slender frame). Her long golden brown hair is loose, but held away from her face in a navy blue band. Her jewelry is simple: her Rolex watch, the pretty little oval-cut London blue topaz ring (in a raised sterling silver setting), and a small oval-cut London blue topaz pendant with a tiny little diamond at the tip.

After a few minutes, Kris looks up from her beloved dog, "Sorry Mr. Hawkes, Matt."

"Jesse—please."

"Thanks. I rescued Frost over two years ago from an abusive owner. I was in Alaska doing some work for my father. Even though he completely trusts me, he's still leery of men."

"Understandable. He's a beautiful dog though."

"He's the most intelligent dog I've ever had. And at two and a half years, he's earned his Utility Certification in a program for unregistered and mixed breed dogs started in conjunction with the AKC and ASPCA."

"Quite a dog. What mix is he?"

"Alaskan Malamute and Siberian Husky. He was eaten alive with fleas and ticks when I got him, plus ear mites. Once I got him home, the first thing I had done was to get him neutered—eliminated some aggressiveness. I've also done some tracking and Search and Rescue with him—following a known scent. Mainly back home in Georgia. He's also very protective of me." Frost flops down at Kris' feet, looking up at her with total adoration in his ice blue eyes **almost the same color as Matt's**, she thinks as she reaches down to pet him affectionately. He responds by wagging his tail.

Jesse watches them for a moment, "Matt tells me you're here after someone."

"Steven Baxter. He murdered my best friend from high school." Kris looks down at Frost, "This guy was with me when I found her in an old abandoned graveyard back in South Central Georgia."

"There a warrant out?"

"For what good it does. Most law enforcement agencies don't want to go after a wife murderer—you probably know that as well as I do. The guy's family has some connections, so Sheriff Dixon, Dad, and I really had to fight to get the warrant issued. It's typical small town rural South—you know the right people, you can get by with anything," Kris shrugs, "Been two years that I've been chasing him off and on. I made her parents at the funeral that I wouldn't give up on catching him."

"How'd you get stabbed?"

"I was trailing Baxter and he doubled back on me. We got into a struggle over his knife. Somehow, I managed to get away from him and get into the saddle. Next thing I knew—I was in the hospital."

"You're lucky he didn't rape you," Matt comments quietly.

Kris shakes her head again, "I wouldn't have put it past him, but he didn't get a chance. And I'd have fought him like a wildcat if he tried. I think he hopes I died on that road."

"Instead—he almost killed you."

Kris dismisses her injury, "I've been hurt worse over the years." She smiles warmly at Matt, who's perched on the porch railing next to her, "Albeit it was nice to have someone with me at the hospital."

Matt glances at Jesse, then back at her, "You going back to the cabin?"

"Where else? As soon as I can get Golden Prince saddled."

Jesse picks up on his son's train of thought, "Who's going to look after you?"

"I've never needed, anyone to look after me." Kris attempts to get to her feet, but a wave of dizziness sweeps over her, causing her sway on her feet.

Matt immediately catches her, easing her back to the chair and kneeling in front of her as she tries to catch her breath—gently stroking her hair in a soothing motion, "Damn it Kris—you're going to give me gray hairs." He urges her to put her head down between her knees until the dizziness and nausea pass.

Jesse waits a moment, until Kris looks up, before speaking in a firm tone that brooks no argument, "That settles it. You're not going anywhere for the time being."

"You can stay here," Matt offers, "There's a spare bed in Robin's room, and that way I can keep an eye on you."

Kris finds herself weakening, "I—I can't--"

"You are. And this way, there'll be someone here to change the bandages. Robin's a nurse, while I've had extensive first aid training—part of the requirements for being a Ranger."

Kris gives in with a sigh, "If you're sure--"

"Absolutely. Come on—I know you're anxious to see your horse."

_Chapter Fifteen:_

While Jesse takes her bag inside and informs everyone of their unexpected guest, Matt leads the way around the corner of the Ranger Station, past a large riding arena. There's a large barn, with tack and feed rooms at either end, consisting of a dozen stalls. It opens into a large pasture of hand-cut logs.

Grazing in the pasture are several horses—a couple of Paints, a buckskin, two grays, a chestnut, and a pretty copper-colored palomino, with a snow-white mane and tail, neat white star, and socks on his forelegs that reach just above his ankles. His neat head, short neck and legs, and powerful hindquarters reveal that he's Foundation Quarter Horse.

Leaning on the top rail of the fence, Kris gives a low whistle. Immediately, the stallion leaves his grazing to walk over and greet his owner with affectionate nuzzles to the cheek and soft nickers. After straightening his forelock, she slips easily through the rails to examine his scratched ankles.

Matt watches in amazement as the fifteen hand stallion stands motionless for her to check him over, nuzzling her and nickering softly. She gives him a affectionate scratch under his short mane, "You're all right. Jesse did a good job."

Kris then returns to Matt's side and slips back through the fence, leaving Golden Prince to his grazing, "He looks good. I guess all that time I spent teaching him to stand ground-tied and/or hobbled paid off. He may scar a bit, but that's not a problem."

"He's pretty. And really easy-going. Robin and I both really like him."

"Thanks. He's typical Foundation: gentle, easy-going, well-mannered, and pretty much unflappable. Which is why he's in such demand as a sire. Most of his foals seem to inherit his nice looks and even temperament. If I wanted, I could breed him to almost a hundred mares a year, but I'm pretty selective about which mares I breed him to." Kris looks at Matt, "You ever heard how I acquired this guy?"

Matt shakes his blond head as Kris leans on the fence, watching the horses, "No. I adopted my Mustang."

"That's more or less what I did." Kris watches as Golden Prince decides to roll in a patch of snow, "I'd been taking lessons since I was adopted at the age of eight—English and Western: Show Jumping, some Hunters, Dressage, Western Pleasure, Trail, even a bit of Reining, you name it—I've done it. All the sudden one day, I was out at my grandfather's farm when a trailer pulls in. Apparently, my father has a wicked sense of humor because out stepped this scrawny, wormy, lame three year old. Couldn't even tell what color he was—he was in such horrific shape. I was ten years old. He bought him for five hundred dollars from an old friend of his. Even threw in his papers, so I'm a life-time AQHA member."  
Matt's caught between laughter and horror, but settles for laughter, "Good grief—what did you do?"

"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry," Kris admits with a smile, "So I settled for trying to bring him back to condition. Fortunately, it was summer—so Pa and Gran let me spend my days sitting under an old magnolia tree in the paddock there at the farm. Took a week before he'd let me even touch him."

"You've obviously made progress with him," Matt chuckles, watching as the stallion gets up, shakes the snow off, and walks over for some attention.

"Apparently, he had some expert training before he fell into abusive hands. He was born on the King Ranch and is now one of the last living direct descendants of Poco Bueno. He's one hundred percent Foundation."

Matt nods, having recognized the conformation of the horse, "So what happened?"

"Being a stallion—I couldn't show Youth and with his bloodlines, I didn't want to geld him. So we went Open. The number of points we won our second year as Super Horse is still a record. We went either World or Reserve in Western Pleasure, Trail, Hunter, Show Jumping, Halter, Hunter Hack, and Pleasure Driving. He holds Register of Merits in Western Pleasure, Trail, Hunter, and Show Jumping."

"Impressive. And now?"

"With a bit of luck—Golden Prince will be the first Quarter Horse in the Olympics. He's trying out for the Show Jumping. Silver will be going in Show Jumping and Dressage—double Grand Prix."

"Wow," Matt whistles.

"A year ago, a friend of mine saw Golden Prince and suggested that with his training and conformation, I entered him in a couple of classes. I did and he placed third in both. So I called Dover and got him his own tack and myself jackets for showing him. He's done well enough to earn a slot in the try outs. I got the letter from the United States Equestrian Team last week, inviting all three of us."

_Chapter Sixteen:_

After running in and informing everyone he's leaving for a bit, Matt directs Kris to his gray Ford Pick-Up for the quick trip to a nearby cabin. While she gets several things, including her lap-top computer and cell-phone, he goes out to the small barn and gets Golden Prince's hay, concentrates, grooming kit, blankets, and treats. From the kitchen, he gets Frost's food (Foster and Smith canned and dry) and supplements, and treats along with his Oster grooming kit. His spare bed is fetched from the living room.

Kris comes out of the cabin as Matt is stowing everything in the back of the truck, pulling two large wheeled suitcases. To his surprise, she's also carrying four guns, in cases (or holsters): an obviously old double-barreled shotgun (probably a twelve gauge), a high-powered hunting rifle, a three fifty-seven Magnum Smith and Wesson revolver, and a thirty-two caliber snub nose revolver. "I hope you're licensed to carry those things," he comments as he takes the suitcases and tosses them in the back. The guns are safely stored behind the seats.

"Been licensed since I was twenty. And shooting since I was fourteen. Baxter may have caught me by surprise last time, but not again."

"You're going to kill him?"

"Not if I can help it. I want him to face justice. Let me get a couple more things."

Matt waits patiently as Kris locks up and returns with a black nylon laptop case and her cell-phone. "You ever killed anyone," he asks as he drives back to the Ranger Station.

Kris looks him directly in the eye, "Matter of fact, I have. Three times in fact."

her statement startles him so much he has to pull off the road to stare at her in shock, "Please—tell me you're kidding?"

"I wish, but I'm not a serial killer—please don't think that. But my father's retired Marine, like you told me Jesse was, and my maternal grandfather was as well—serving in World War II. I first learned to shoot when I was fourteen, shortly after my grandfather's hired hand attempted to rape me. It was sort of therapeutic. I average about ninety percent on the pistol range—well above average. That shotgun is one my uncle, Dad's half brother, gave me when I left Africa—it's one his birth father gave him when they lived in Kenya. Uncle John killed several maneating leopards and lions with it, plus a couple of Cape Buffaloes. I bought the rifle for hunting trips. The three fifty-seven is my choice for wilderness travel. And the thirty-two is my back-up. I was staying at a hotel, near a show, when a serial rapist broke into my room. I had the gun under my pillow and shot him twice at point blank range as he was trying to get his britches down—once in the groin, second time in the chest—dead on the scene. He was linked by DNA to several other rapes in various hotels."

" Yow! And the second?"

"I think I told you that I bought my grandparents' farm back in Georgia," when Matt nods, Kris continues, "Two years ago—I was there to start work on converting it to a working farm to raise Thoroughbreds and Foundation Quarter Horses, as well as use it as a base for showing. Anyway, a high school friend of mine showed up—running from an abusive boyfriend. Naturally, I allowed her to stay. Less than two days later, Silver was in his paddock, which is right in front of the house—when he and Frost alerted me to a prowler. I snuck out and came up behind him. When I told him to freeze, he came at me with a knife. I dropped him in his tracks with a single shot to the heart."

"What did the Sheriff do?"

Kris shakes her head, "Nothing to do. He was a convicted felon and was trespassing on private property, plus carrying weapons. Besides, Sheriff Dixon and Dad went to high school together—so he's known me ever since I was adopted."

"And the last time?"

"Six months ago. A serial rapist was attacking women in Virginia State Park. Since I was there already for the Washington International, a friend of Dad's asked me to help out. So I took Silver out on the

trails, and sure enough—he struck. But I didn't kill him. He made the mistake of attacking a woman

mounted on an extremely well-trained eighteen hand Thoroughbred stallion. When he came at me, Silver reared and one of his hooves hit him square in the head—killing him instantly, left a bloody mess."

"You're pretty brave," Matt comments, wondering if maybe Kris has what it takes to be a Ranger, certainly seems like she's got the courage, and many of the skills. **Something to think about**, he muses to himself.

"My mother thinks foolish." Kris is silent for a minute, "Ever heard the expression 'noblesse oblige'?"

Matt thinks back to a sociology class he took in college, "Sure--'obligation of the nobles'."

"That's what I live by. I was blessed with three major gifts: wealth—which I donate a lot of to different charities; a talent for solving strange mysteries—which I don't charge for; and an ability to accomplish difficult things with little effort or pissing anyone off—money helps with that of course. Helping people who otherwise can't afford it is my way of giving back."

"Even if it means putting yourself at risk?"

"If that's what it takes to bring closure to a family who's daughter was killed by an abusive husband. Or a family who's child has been abducted. Let's face it, most of the people I help can't afford to hire someone who'll put their heart into solving a case—the ones they can afford simply go through the motions and take their money. As far as putting myself at risk, look who's talking? You do it on a daily basis up here in the Sierras." Kris then turns in her seat to Matt, "How about you? How'd you end up as CO of one of the most famous Search and Rescue units in the country?"

Matt pulls the truck back onto the road, "I played college football until I broke my leg in a game at UCLA—I was Quarterback and had been scouted by the 49ers," he grins over at her, "Came back here to recuperate with Dad and Cody, then T. J. Cousins did his best to kill Dad a few months later. He founded the Rangers before I was born. Being a Ranger was something that had sort of been at the back of my mind since I spent time out here with Dad, but had never really considered it until then."

Kris nods, "I remember one of my professors talking about how Cousins wiped out a whole family and killed several Rangers. No wonder your Dad's name seemed familiar."

"Dad almost died on us, I almost lost Cody—would have if Dad had died. Merlin Pierce, Dad's Second in Command, realized I needed something to focus on while Dad was recovering. So he convinced me to try out—probably saved my sanity, plus allowed me to have Cody at the Station as well, giving him a break from the hospital. The day Dad was released from the hospital, he handed me my badge. Proudest day of my life was when I walked into his hospital room and dropped it in his hand. Two days later, he swore me in. He ended up retiring due to his injuries though. I worked for him for two months. Learned a hell of a lot. Still learning from him."

"Then T. J. returned," Kris remembers from Professor Donaldson's class.

"And killed Merlin. At twenty-one, I became CO. Two years ago, I almost died on a rescue that turned into a trap set by meth dealers. Jim Cutler and Tim Hart suffered severe injuries. I was more dead than alive when I was airlifted out of that valley, actually did die—if it hadn't been for Mike and another deputy, I wouldn't have even made it to the hospital. Because of my injuries, I was sent down to San Fransisco and was told I would never walk again. If it hadn't been for Dad and Cody, I wouldn't have made it. Three months later, we came back. And a month after that, I came back to work. I'm where I belong, here in the Sierras with the Rangers."

"Amazing," Kris murmurs, "Maybe I should've contacted you when I was working on my thesis." Then, she changes the subject, "Got a girlfriend that might be jealous of you spending time with a stranger?"

"Not hardly," Matt laughs warmly, reaching over to squeeze her hand, careful of the bruise left from the IV, "Haven't had a date since right before the accident. A blind one that bombed. Running the Rangers doesn't leave much time—I'm either at the Station or Dad's cabin. How about you?"

Kris shakes her head, "I don't date much. Haven't had one in two years. Between riding and my detective work, it doesn't leave much time. The last date I had was a blind date set up by my mother—

son of a friend of hers. He wanted to know how much money I'm worth, am I a virgin and can have kids, and would I live in the same home as his parents and become a socialite along the lines of the Kennedys. He wanted me to give up to much."

"A man who loves you wouldn't ask you to give up either your riding or detective work."

"Exactly. When I said that, he laughed at me. I poured my drink over his head and left. He had the nerve to call me the next day. I told him to go to hell in a hand basket. It wasn't love—more like an arranged marriage type thing. I gave Mom a mouthful about that one and she hasn't tried since. Haven't had one since. She and Dad know better than to even try. How about you?"

"Not much better than your last one. Daughter of a friend of my mother's. She wanted something I wasn't willing to give—leave here to move to L. A. so she could pursue a career as a model. She didn't care what I wanted. I can't leave here and told her that. The Rangers, Dad, and Cody are all to important to me. She died of a drug overdose a few months ago."

Kris is silent as Matt parks the Pick-Up in the parking lot of a nearby convenience store so that she can get her supply of Diet Coke and iced tea (she can't stand coffee, so drinks Diet Coke for her caffeine, and being a Southerner—she drinks iced tea year round).

_Chapter Seventeen:_

Going inside the Ranger Station, Kris is greeted warmly by Izzy Flowers (who's voice she recognizes from the radio), a tall brown-headed guy with sparkling green eyes (from Idaho) and Tim Hart (an African-American from the Bronx). Jim Cutler (not quite as tall as Matt, but with black hair and light blue eyes that have a merry twinkle) grew up in Tahoe and went through school with Matt. Frank Avila (a full-blooded Shoshone Indian from nearby) is the Ranger's resident pilot and secondary tracker (behind Matt).

Jim is flopped out on one of the couches, reading a romance novel. Izzy is manning the radios. Tim and Frank are shooting pool on a table next to the back door. While Robin is in the kitchen.

The massive living room reminds Kris of the ski lodges she's visited over the years—huge fireplace with several large logs, over-stuffed couches, and big screen TV. But there's things that remind her that this is a highly trained Alpine Search and Rescue Unit—heavy white goose-down water-proof parkas hanging on a rack next to the door, climbing harnesses and backpacks loaded with survival gear underneath, ready to be picked up at a moment's notice, locked gun cases with high-powered rifles and shotguns, extremely detailed USGS maps (including handwritten notes on them—detailing unmarked trails, caves, and creeks, along with old shacks—courtesy of Jesse, Cody, and Matt) hang on the walls, a fully-equipped communications system, and one of the most up-to-date computers she's seen recently. Matt's small office is just off the main room, consisting of a battered old desk, computer, two chairs, couch, and filing cabinet—but the door remains open most of the time.

The Rangers all greet Kris warmly (having heard all about her from Matt and Robin). She can't help but relax, feeling more at ease. Frost, for the first time, actually comes in and promptly makes friends with everyone.

Robin comes out of the kitchen to greet Kris, "Glad you're here. Come on and I'll show you to our room." She leads the way up the wide steps to the second floor and the first room on the left, opening the door to a spacious room with two full-size beds, covered with dark blue comforters. It even has its

own private full-bath. The window over-looks the front parking lot, with the pasture off to one side. There's a large pine wardrobe for her clothes. "Take your time and get settled in. If we don't get a call, dinner will be ready in a couple of hours."

"Thanks for letting me room with you," Kris tells the pretty blond with a smile.

"You're very welcome. We often have people stay overnight, for one reason or another. Sometimes family, sometimes friends. Being the only girl, women stay with me. Matt's right across the hall, in case you're wondering," Robin teases with a wink as she leaves the room.

Kris blushes furiously, the curse of being fair-skinned, as she puts her clothes in the wardrobe. She'll have to get Matt to run her back to the cabin later to get her Blazer and a few more things. But right now, she's just to tired and achy. **I really shouldn't have checked out**, she thinks with a grimace of pain as she picks up her favorite hat (a silver-gray Stetson with a hand-made band of pure sterling silver—she'd found it in while out in Scottsdale at a Dressage Competition). She often wears it when schooling the horses and just casually with jeans. She debates about changing shoes, but decides against it. The black Ariat Terrain Lacers are about as comfortable as her loafers, or Ropers, and often double as hiking boots. She glances at her laptop case, with several file folders, but leaves it for now. She needs to check her e-mails and work on a couple of profiles, but really doesn't feel like it.

Before dinner, Kris goes out to take Golden Prince into the stall assigned to him so he can eat his concentrated feed (Nutrena for semi-active horses) and supplements (a feed-through dewormer; Cosequin—joints; SmartTendon—tendons and ligaments; Focus HF—hooves; Hilton Herbs Himalayan Salt—minerals; Bug Bam—internal fly control; SmartVite Performance Grass—a multi vitamin; Vitamin E—antioxidant; and Cheval's Gold as Sun—coat enhancer). She hates having to give him and Silver so many supplements, but with their travel and competition schedules, it makes sense so they can get everything they need. And SmartPac is great about pre-measuring everything, packaging them by the day, and shipping them wherever she happens to be—usually a month at the time. She does the same for her two dogs. She even gets her own Cosamin DS (a human joint supplement) from the company.

While the stallion eats, she gives him a light grooming and doctors the now nearly healed cuts from the barbed wire with Bag Balm to help ease scarring. Once done, he's covered with a SmartPac SmartBlue Plaid (a portion of the price goes to support Equine Charities—so most of her stable blankets and two saddle pads are that pattern, along with some tote bags) Stable Blanket. Before leaving, she gives him an armload of a specially grown mixture of Alfalfa and Timothy Hay to tide him over through the night.

Leaning over the stall door, Matt is amazed at how quietly Golden Prince stands as Kris fusses over him. He flicks his small ears, but never moves (except to eat) as she talks to him like he's another person. She finally gives him an affectionate pat on his short neck, causing him to knicker softly as he nuzzles her cheek. "I can't believe he's a stallion, as gentle as he is."

"Typical Foundation Quarter Horse. Most people never even realize he's a stallion unless they look. Never because he acts like one. He's just never been a studdy acting stallion," her voice is affectionate as she looks at her horse.

Matt mentions the faded scars he saw on the stallion's flanks, "What happened there? I can see that they're whip and spur scars?"

Kris exits the stall, "His first owner tried to turn him into a Reining Horse. He's quick and agile, but not cut out to be a Reiner. We have an agreement: no sharp spurs or whips. I don't even carry one when I'm lunging him, he works on voice commands. Especially when I'm riding him. Touch him with a whip or crop and he'll flip out."

"Obviously works."

"Yep. That bull-dog conformation means he's fast and responsive—without any other urging than my voice and a light touch of my heels. I may wear spurs, but they're tiny ones for Hunter/Jumpers—no rowels or sharp points. He really doesn't need them though and I'm careful to avoid using them unless I have to. Fortunately, he and Silver never need any real urging to pick up their pace—they love to run all out. Wait until you see Silver though."

Dinner is a rich stew, served with bread from a bakery in South Lake Tahoe, and a salad. Kris earns points with the Rangers for not only eating it (made with an elk that Jesse shot—she's told afterwards), but helping to clean up afterwards. But they're amused at her drinking a large glass of sweetened iced tea. Once done with the meal and clean up, Frank has to run home to check on an ill son—promising to return first thing in the morning. The rest decide to take it easy for the evening. Jim and Tim once again pick up their pool game. Izzy retreats to his desk to listen to the radio while reading. Robin flops out on the couch with a book of her own. While Matt goes into his office to get a start on some paperwork.

At a loss for what to do, Kris decides to check out the kitchen. It's large, and has a nice stove, big fridge, large freezer, and microwave. She decides this is something she can help out with and jots down a quick list of some things that she can cook. Then she knocks hesitantly on Matt's office door, causing him to look up, "Something wrong?"

"Not at all. Everything is great. But I'd like to help out some."

"You're here as a guest. Not to work. You don't have to do that."

Kris waves off his concern, "I can do some of the cooking. My maternal grandmother was a part-time caterer and old Southern cook, I learned from her and I'm pretty good. I've made a list of some things I'll need. Since you refuse to let me drive, if someone can drive me to a grocery store—I promise ya'll a good meal tomorrow night. I can't promise how good my coffee is though, since I'm not a coffee drinker."

"If you're sure."

"I am. And another thing, why don't I run the radio and phones for ya'll? Free up Izzy to take some runs? After listening to the scanner, I know everyone's call signs. The radio signals seem to be pretty standard. But if you'll let me have a sheet, I'll memorize the differences."

"You're sure you don't mind?"

"Not a bit. I'd like to help out a bit, rather than just being lazy—not in my nature. Golden Prince doesn't need much work, and Silver's not here—so I don't really have anything to do of my own." Kris turns then looks back at Matt, "Oh and Matt—elk meat? Puhleeze—my father and grandfathers are all avid hunters. I've eaten everything from lamb, wild hog, deer, rabbit, quail, dove, duck, rattlesnake, alligator, crawdads, all sorts of seafood, bass, bream, and catfish. When I was visiting Dad's half-brother in Kenya, I ate Cape Buffalo, eland, antelope, several game birds, and fish from the rivers and streams there. I've also eaten wild game in Europe. I draw the line at whale, dog, and horse meat though."

Matt grins at her back as she walks away. Once again, she surprises him.

_Chapter Eighteen: _

Going back to her room, Kris gets her lap-top computer and a couple of file folders. Making use of the spare desk, she opens the computer and spreads out the folder—becoming absorbed in the crime scene photos and reports. She's vaguely aware of everyone gradually heading off to bed. Picking up a crime scene photo, she begins jotting notes into the word-processing program. Once done, she'll use her notes to create a report that she'll e-mail to the police department that requested her help.

Coming out of his office, Matt discovers Kris sitting at the spare desk and perches on the edge, causing her to look up at him, "What are you working on?"

Kris glances at her watch, finding it's almost ten, "Thanks for stopping me. I need a break anyway. I've been working on this for about three hours. It's all starting to run together."

"How are you feeling?"

"Better, now that I'm out of that hospital. As hospitals go, it wasn't bad, but I'm glad I'm out of there. I took a pain pill after dinner."

Matt picks up a crime scene photo and studies it, "Mind telling me what you're doing?"

"When I was twenty, I took a hostage negotiation course, while working on my degree. One of the gentlemen in the class is now a police chief in South Carolina. He's got a serial rapist that's preying on elderly women. I'm trying to draw a profile of the rapist."  
"How do you do it?"

Kris shrugs, "Professor Donaldson was one of the first profilers, working with John Douglas in the FBI—retired due to a car accident, so I learned from him and others. I read over the police reports and victim statements. Then study the crime scene photos. As gross as it sounds, I try to get into the head of the criminal. It's very—I don't know—instinctive. I really can't explain how I do it. Right now, I'm trying to figure out why this guy is targeting elderly women. It's hardly the typical target of a rapist.

The last stats I read said that only one out of every ten victims is a woman over sixty. And why is he using this particular area as his 'hunting ground'? Personally, I think he lives there and studies his victims before attacking. No robbery, just the sexual assault. He's being to selective about his victims."

"Doesn't it drive you crazy? Don't you see yourself sometimes? I know when I first started, every time we had a young child—I'd see Cody's face."

"If I let it, it would easy to go over the edge. I've learned to make a conscious effort to distance myself from the cases and victims, not to get emotionally involved. If I didn't, I'd go insane. There's a fine line between compassion and getting emotionally involved."

"True. So how do you escape it?"

"My horses. When I'm riding a Dressage test, or facing a six foot jump, there's no room for anything else on my mind. Both demand my complete and total attention—total focus on the task at hand. To relax, I go trail riding and travel—all over the world. Skiing here, hiking there, horse trekking where ever. Anything to take my mind off rapists preying on elderly women, or wife killers on the loose." Kris reaches on into her lap-top case ands removes a piece of paper, "Just so you know—here's a copy of the warrant for Baxter's arrest." Another piece of paper, "And the autopsy report. Baxter beat her to death, and her seven months pregnant—DNA revealed it was his child. Frost and I found her in an old abandoned graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Only time I've ever lost it at a crime scene."

Matt skims the report, then the photos from where the body was found. He can see why she lost her stomach at the scene. "Where did this happen," he asks.

"Macon County, Georgia—about three hours south of Atlanta. Sheriff Dixon is an old friend of my mother's family and went to college with Dad. Stephen moved Liz there right after they married, part of his plan to isolate her so she wouldn't have anyone to turn to when the abuse started. I was taking a break from showing there at my Grandfather's farm and had already run into Coby—small rural area, so everyone knows everyone else. She didn't show up for her part-time job, so Dixon sent his deputy out to check out the house—it was empty. Baxter was long gone. Coby knows me, didn't realize I knew Liz though, so he asked me to come out to the house and take a look around, telling him what I thought—as a profiler. There was blood all over the place, telling me she didn't leave the house alive." Kris shakes her head at the memories, her brilliant blue eyes filled with pain as she relives them, "I personally called her parents and told them, even though I didn't tell them I thought she was probably dead. I didn't want to scare them in case I turned out to be wrong. Unfortunately, I wasn't."

"What happened," Matt asks, curious as to how she handled what was obviously a difficult time. He instinctively reaches out to stroke her silky hair, which now smells faintly of the mountains (one of her favorite shampoos). She readily accepts the caress, actually enjoying it.

"I realized that a standard grid search wouldn't find her. He wouldn't do something so obvious as to dump her where she'd be found easily, but that he wouldn't take her far either. I got hold of a detailed

map of the county and marked several spots to check. I saddled Silver, borrowed a radio from Coby, and carried enough supplies to be out for a day or two. Started my own search—relying on what my gut was telling me."

"What did the Sheriff say?"

"Coby thought I was crazy, risking Silver like that, but by going on horseback—I could see and hear things that someone in a truck or on a bike couldn't. Plus he's a super trail horse, despite being a Thoroughbred and ex-racehorse—very steady and sure-footed, with a lot of stamina. And we went down some pretty rugged trails and dirt roads. Took two days, camped out that night, but I found her the next day in an old abandoned cemetery—ten miles from their home. Actually, I saw the buzzards and followed them—it was a long-shot, but what the hell. I was able to preserve a good bit of evidence too."

"You do search and rescue?"

"Mounted mostly. I'm also a trained EMT—which Dad insisted I take since I travel so much."

"Alpine?"

"Some, mainly in a pinch. Why?"

"Just thinking." Matt watches as Kris closes up her laptop and sticks it in its case. "Going on to bed?"

"Actually, I'm going out for a breath of fresh air first. I have a tendency to get a little claustrophobic if I'm cooped up for long."

_Chapter Nineteen:_

Going outside, Kris perches on the railing of the front porch, bundling into a borrowed parka against the twenty degree temperature (which is fine with her—she loves cold weather and it's good for her asthma). She's amazed at how crystal clear the night sky here—with a full-moon, a few high thin clouds, and the only lights coming from those lighting the outside of the Ranger Station. The only sounds are those of the horses moving around in their nearby pasture and the wind moving through the towering pines that surround the area. She doesn't jump at the sound of the door opening and Matt stepping out. He nudges her slightly, urging her to scoot forward, then slips in behind her—leaning against the post. Without thinking, she leans back against him, relaxing as he slips his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. She finds herself enjoying the feel of his arms around her, the warmth of his coat, and the scent of his cologne, **Aspen **she recognizes the familiar scent as being one of her favorites When she speaks, to his surprise, it's not spoken words, but a song that he hasn't heard in years, in a very pretty soprano:

"_How Great Thou Art"_

_Written: Carl Boberg—1859--1940_

_Translated: Stuart K. Hine—1899--?_

_Swedish Folk Melody_

_Verse 1:_

"_O Lord my God! When I in awesome wonderConsider_

_all the worlds Thy hands have madeI see the stars, I hear the rolling_

_thun-der, Thy pow'r through-out the un-iv-verse displayed, "_

_Verse 2:_

"_When through the woods and forest glades I wan-der And hear the_

_birds sing sweet-ly in the trees; When I look down from loft-y moun-tain_

_gran-deur And hear the brook and feel the gen-tle breeze; "_

_Verse 4:_

"_When Christ shall come with shout of ac-cla-ma-tion And take me_

_home, what joy shall fill my heart! Then I shall bow in hum-ble ad-o-_

_ra-tion And there pro-claim, my God, how great Thou art!"_

_Refrain:_

"_Then sings my soul, my Sav-ior God to Thee: How great Thou_

_art, how great Thou art! Then sings my soul, my Sav-ior God to_

_Thee; How great Thou art, how great Thou art!"_

_Author's Note: This particular song is one of my favorites, especially when sung by a pretty soprano or tenor. And it fits this particular case._

Matt looks at Kris in astonishment, "Beautiful song."

"Thank you. I grew up in a Free Will Baptist Church, plus went to a small Christian school, and have often sang that song as a solo. I can see why you love this place. It's so peaceful right now. I've traveled all over the world, and have seldom felt so peaceful. The air is so crisp, clear, and it's so quiet—no noise except for the wind and the horses."

"If you think it's quiet here, you ought to go up to Dad's cabin. Here, we're sort of on a sub road, you know—off the main road. Dad's even further back. Would you like to ride up there with me tomorrow? Dad would love to see you again, and Cody really likes you too."

Kris shakes her blond head as she leans back against Matt, almost against her will. She briefly considers moving, but that would mean leaving his strong arms, and that's just not something she wants to do right this minute, despite herself. "What are you doing to me," she asks softly.

"What do you mean," Matt murmurs, nuzzling her neck with his lips. **She smells like a combination of honeysuckle and wildflowers**, he muses as he pulls her more tightly against him. To his surprise, she doesn't fight or resist him.

"Why are you being so gentle and caring towards me? I mean, I'm no one to you," Kris sighs.

"You so wrong, Snowbird. Just in the last few days, you've come to mean so much to me," he whispers.

Kris is silent for a moment, making him think he might have scared her off. But she doesn't move, leading him to think that maybe not. Her voice is soft, hesitant, when she speaks, "I've spent most of my life avoiding romance, any hint of it—didn't even go with anyone in high school. You can ask anyone—I don't date. I have a couple of friends on the circuit—both fellow Dressage riders: Linda Hill and Martha Scully—that I do things with when not riding and/or showing. But men—let's put it this way, Robin's handle is Frostbite and that describes me pretty well. Men approach me and they want one of two things: sex or money. And when I don't put out, they get out. I'm pretty good at shooting them out of the saddle."

"You must have met some real SOB's."

"That's an understatement. But you--you're different. I can't think of one man who would've stayed with me in the hospital, not leaving my side, while I recovered from a stab wound and hypothermia. You're different from any other man I've ever known."

"I hope that's a good thing," Matt chuckles slightly.

"Definitely," Kris smiles, "I know you're the Commander, and that's obvious in the way you carry yourself, I've seen that. And you handle yourself extremely well. I learned that listening to the scanner. And from being around here this afternoon and talking to the other Rangers, it's obvious that they respect you—both as their CO and a friend. I don't think that there's a person here who wouldn't jump off a mountain if you asked them."

"We're a family. One thing that Dad stressed when I was growing up was that the Rangers are family. When one hurts, we all hurt. When one's depressed, we come together. I continued that, now that I'm the CO."

"I can tell. They all adore you." Kris takes a deep breath, "But I see a different side of you. I see someone who's caring, compassionate, and very gentle. But I'm so used to being on my own, keeping myself aloof from everyone, you're scaring me."

"How is that, Snowbird," Matt whispers.

"I don't let people close, that way I don't get hurt when they back away—which they always do. But you're making me want to drop that attitude and take a chance, with my heart—which is not something I'm not comfortable doing."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I've been alone so long, this—letting you close—scares the hell out of me. Over the last few days, I've come to like you, more than I ever have a man before. I looked forward to you calling in the morning, and coming by in in the afternoons—I found myself missing you when you weren't there, and worrying about you yesterday with that rescue. I enjoyed talking to Cody—I can see a lot of you in him, and him in you. When you held me Tuesday, letting me cry on your shoulder, I felt safe, secure, . . .Then yesterday, when I held you, I felt like the Grinch—who's heart was suddenly to big for his chest."

"Love," Matt supplies softly.

"Yeah. And it scares me. You scare me."

With a gentle finger, Matt turns Kris' head so he can look deep into her eyes, "Those two days I spent at your side, watching every breath you took, you touched a part of my heart I never realized existed. After the way Mom did Dad, cheated on him with her boss, when Cody was three and I was ten, I swore I'd never let myself fall in love, which happened once when I was in college—it hurt to much when she left for 'greener pastures'. I knew I wouldn't be able to live with that. But you, you're different. As I sat at your side, I found myself falling in love—with you. There's nothing to be afraid of."

"Speak for yourself. You're terrifying me."

"That's the last thing I want to do, Snowbird."

"I know."

"Tell you what, let's take things slowly okay? A day at a time. I know you have a life away from here. I'm not asking you to give that up."

Kris relaxes, reassured, "Starting in February, I'll be tied up with the five Olympic Trials: Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Fort Worth, Atlanta, and Washington. Then I'll have a break until leaving for Athens."

"What are your Christmas plans?"

Kris shakes her head, "I usually spend it back on Sea Island, giving the horses a break. Dad's parents left me their place there—large three bedroom/three bath cottage on the beach with it's own private heated lap pool, but I get the use of the Cloister's facilities. They have a nice stable there, so the horses can relax as well. There's usually a large ball at the Cloister I put in appearance at, but other than that—nothing much. Walking and riding on the beach and along the salt marshes, enjoying the spa facilities, pigging out on seafood, just relaxing, doing some sight-seeing, and getting in the mood for the upcoming show season. Mom and Dad usually travel, this year a cruise of the Mediterranean, I think."

"Stay here, with me then. Let me show you my world. Experience a white Christmas."

Kris thinks a minute, then looks back up into Matt's blue eyes. **Blue topaz**, she has a split second to think before he lowers his head to kiss her gently. She finds herself melting against him. After a few seconds, he lifts up, "How's that for persuasion?"

"Pretty damn good," she murmurs, then pulls him down for another kiss, this one longer. When she breaks it, they're both breathing heavily, "I think I'm convinced now. I could get used to this, easily."

"Good I want you too," Matt grins as he pulls Kris back against him, allowing her to snuggle into his broad chest, resting her head against his shoulder.

For a moment, both are silent. Then Kris reluctantly breaks it, "There's something I'd better tell you before we get to involved."

"What's that, Snowbird?"

She takes a deep breath, "I've never been—intimate--with a man."

"You mean that you're a—virgin? At your age?"

"It's never been something that was a conscious decision. I've just never felt comfortable enough with any man I've met to take that ultimate step. And by remaining a virgin, I never had to worry about getting pregnant, STD's, or HIV/AIDS."

"That's fine," Matt tells her quietly, "We'll take things a step at a time."

Kris relaxes at his easy acceptance of her decision. One guy she dated briefly thought she was joking until she flat out refused to go to bed with him. That's when she started getting the reputation she has on the show circuit. She laughs at a sudden memory, "I've got to call a friend of mine tomorrow."

"Why's that?"

"Sophie Miles, my school's former yearbook editor and current alumna coordinator. There wasn't but twenty in my graduating class, so we didn't have all those things like Best Looking, Most Popular, Most Likely to Whatever. The school administrators didn't believe in that stuff. Instead, everyone got their own page with pictures, college and major of choice, school accomplishments, outside accomplishments, personal life goals, professional life goals."

"Small school?"

"Central Georgia Christian Academy—very. About fifty in the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth grades total. Didn't even have valedictorian and salutorians. Did a lot of independent study work. Stressed high

academics and arts—music--vocal and instrumental, and other arts. Little sports—didn't like to promote competitiveness between students—mainly just simple fitness. Anyway, Sophie, Liz, and I were all good friends—hung out together."

"Go on."

"Under professional goals—I wrote 'become a private investigator', which I've done, and to represent the United States in Olympic Equestrian Team Competition—which I'm working on. And under personal goals—'to be track side at all three Triple Crown races'."

"Silver let you do that—as owner/trainer," Matt remembers.

"Did he ever, setting records in two of them. Anyway, our senior class trip—strangely enough—was out here—to Tahoe for two weeks of skiing. One of the families owned a cabin not to far from here."

"Weird," Matt comments.

"Tell me about it," Kris laughs, "You know me—I did my fair share of skiing, which I love. But I also found a rental stable and did some winter trail riding out here. Our chaperones thought I was nuts, but with Dad's permission, they let me go off by myself—since no one else rode to the extent I did, at least in winter weather and I was so independent. Sophie rode a little, but no where near like I did, even then. I remember getting to the stable that first day, being given a big palomino gelding, and the owner handing me a map and a radio to hook to my belt and looking up at me saying, 'The radio's set to the right frequency for the High Mountain Rangers, so if you get in trouble—call them. The guy who heads it, Jesse Hawkes, has a son named Matt about your age'. Maybe he was trying to tell me something."

"Just more proof that we belong together," Matt chuckles.

"That's not the half of it. Anyway, I guess I fell in love with the Sierras then. So for my second personal goal, mainly in jest, I told Sophie as my second personal goal--'to return to Lake Tahoe, live in the Sierras, fall in love with a tall, blond/blue-eyed mountain man, and live happily ever after'. Blame the last on some corny romance novel I'd just read on the flight home though—about just that. What can I say—I was bored out of my mind. And Sophie actually writes them now—for Harlequin and Mills and Boon."

"You've got to be kidding?"

"I told you it was weird," Kris agrees, then sobers, "But maybe this is God's way of putting us back together, after we met at the World Show. A long time ago, I prayed that he would send me the man that he would have me spend the rest of my life with. Took about long enough, but by my coming out here after Baxter, we met." She looks up at Matt, "I'm not like your mother, when I give my heart to someone, you, it's yours. I will never betray you like she did."

"I know that Snowbird." Matt kisses her gently again, "And for the record—I love you."

"I started falling in love with you there at the hospital. When I was lying there, when I wasn't thinking about Baxter, you occupied my thoughts. I should've known something was wrong then, because that's not like me at all."

"And that's bad," Matt teases.

"Not now," she agrees with a smile. She then glances at her watch, "It's almost eleven. I'm going up to bed. Is it all right if Frost stays out here?"

"That's fine."

Kris is asleep the second her head hits the pillow. And for once, her dreams are wonderful—a Ranger on a white horse, long rides through snow-covered mountains, and making love to him.

Matt's own dreams are equally pleasant.


	4. Chapter 4

"HIGH MOUNTAIN RANGERS"

"HIGH MOUNTAIN ROMANCE"

AUTHOR: KRISTI

PART FOUR

_Author's Note: I don't own the characters in this story. They belong to the company that produced the show "High Mountain Rangers", and the wonderful actors (and actress) that portrayed them. I'm merely borrowing them for my own nefarious purposes (course I may decide to keep Matt--grin). Again, thanks to Kris Peterson for some of the background material. Kris Morrell, Frost, Golden Prince, Silver, and Lassie all belong to me._

_Chapter Twenty:_

After an early morning trip to a large grocery store in South Tahoe with Robin, with the guys bringing in their purchases, Kris starts cooking—drawing on her maternal grandmother's teaching and her own experience. Two turkey breasts are set to thawing in the kitchen sink in cool water, with chicken breasts simmering in a large stockpot on top of the stove. She couldn't find cornbread mix, like she usually finds back in Georgia, but luckily found a two pound bag of ground cornmeal, so is able to make a large batch of cornbread—which is now cooking in the oven. Fresh green beans (though she'd prefer one of the heirloom varieties) wait to be tipped and tailed before being snapped, and a pound cake mix is ready to be made into her version of bread pudding. Not wanting to be drafted into helping, the guys leave, but Robin stays—to stick get a lesson in Southern cooking. "How did you learn to cook," she asks as she watches Kris showing her how to take the ends off the beans, then break them into bite-size pieces.

Kris shrugs with a warm smile, "My mother's mother was an old-fashioned Southern cook, who did catering on the side to earn extra money, to supplement what my grandfather made farming and running a rural mail route. She canned and froze vegetables she grew in her garden, mainly cucumbers, tomatoes, peppers, and several kinds of beans and peas, along with corn they grew—a variety called Silver Queen that's really sweet. My grandfather also had a small watermelon patch and grew a variety called Black Diamond, which is a large round dark green and very sweet, but it's hardly ever grown now—considered an heirloom variety. She pickled the rinds, along with cucumbers, eggs, and pigs' feet—they raised both, along with curing their own hams, sausage, and bacon in an actual smoke-house. So I learned by watching her. Both of my grandfathers were also avid hunters, as are my father and his half-brother, who lives in Tanzania and manages a private game reserve—I've visited him and Aunt Liz a couple of times, and love East Africa—very beautiful part of the world, just like this place is—but in a different way, so I've eaten a lot of wild game over the years. Even done some hunting of my own.. And with all the traveling I've done, I love trying new foods." She adds some sea-salt and freshly chopped dill to the simmering chicken broth. She removes a just purchased hand mixer from its box and uses it to mix a pound cake before pouring it into a flat aluminum pan.

"What's this going to be," Robin asks, watching her slip the pan into the oven next to the cornbread.

"Bread pudding."

"Yuck. Hate that stuff."

Kris can't help but smile, "I promise—you'll love my version. Being made with pound cake and extra vanilla, it doesn't get soggy and has more flavor than those made with day old bread or left over biscuit. And the slurry will make it melt in your mouth. I had this in a restaurant years ago and tinkered with the recipe until I got it like I like. Who usually does the cooking?"

"We sort of take turns, they certainly don't expect me to do it all just because I'm a woman. Matt and Izzy like to grill steaks, chicken, wild game, and fish, and are good at it, while I do potatoes, veggies, and salads, and bake things like cakes and cookies for snacking and desert. Frank can do a pretty good chili, and sometimes his wife, Echo, will bring things—she's a good cook. Jim makes wonderful stew. Tim loves to cook spaghetti and lasagna. Sometimes, we'll go to Stoney's in South Tahoe for pizza. Jim, Matt, and Frank all like Mexican, while I prefer Italian. You know how guys are: they like to eat, and eat hearty. Besides, up here—we burn a lot of calories, especially this time of year with the snow and cold weather. We eat a bit lighter during the summer months though."

"I can imagine. But I'll do some of the cooking," Kris tells her with a sassy grin, "I enjoy it and can pay ya'll back for saving my life."

Robin takes in Kris' appearance: her golden brown hair has been pulled back into a high ponytail and tied with a ribbon that matches her eyes—which have a merry twinkle in them; she has on a crisp Pima Cotton polo shirt the exact same color; faded stone-washed blue jeans (which accent a willowy figure); and navy blue loafers (though she wore a heavy dark blue jacket and black winter boots when they went to town—obviously she's not cold-natured). She's a bit pale, but seems to feel better than she did when she first got here, yesterday afternoon. "How are you feeling," she asks softly.

"I've been better," Kris admits with a shake of her head, "But all things considered—I'm not doing to bad."

"Would you like for me to change the dressing on your wound?"

"We'll wait until later." Kris checks the cornbread, finding it about ready to come out of the oven, and reaches for an extra large mixing bowl. She checks the simmering chicken breasts and turns them down to medium high for the time being (cooking on a gas stove isn't a problem). "Once the cornbread is done, I'll take it out and let it cool while the chicken finishes. The chicken will be removed and allowed to cool enough to handle while the stock reduces a bit to intensify the flavor some."

"What's cornbread? I've never heard of it."

Kris shakes her head with a smile, "Tell you've never been to the Deep South. It's a Southern thing—kind of a heavy shortbread made with cornmeal, butter, milk, eggs, and a bit of sugar—doesn't rise much, like breads made with flour and yeast. It's served with nearly every meal—especially greens, peas, beans, even breakfast sometimes. Corn was more readily available than wheat in the South, thriving in the heat and humidity. I can make a more traditional New England-style stuffing, which is made with bread and other stuff—like oysters, sausage, apples, water chestnuts, but this is like what I grew up with. I promise, you'll love it. Most people add onions and celery, but since I'm allergic to them, I leave them out."

Matt sticks his head in, "Robin—got a lost hiker at Desolation. Ten year old child."

Kris wipes her hand on a paper towel, "Take Izzy. I'll man the radio."

"You're sure you feel up to it," he asks.

Kris can't help but smile at his gentle concern, "Supper is under control."

Matt surprises her with a quick kiss on the cheek, causing her to blush furiously, "Thanks Snowbird. There's a code sheet on the desk."

Within minutes, everyone has grabbed jackets and packs and headed out—including Izzy, who whispers a quick thanks on his way out. Kris sits down at the desk and quickly scans the code sheet Matt left for her. It doesn't take long to memorize the differences, after all—they're pretty much standard for most law enforcement agencies (she's spent enough time around police and sheriff's departments to know)--just the codes for the Rangers are different. She picks up the portable radio and cordless phone so that she can return to the kitchen to keep an eye on the chicken. She gets the two turkey breasts (so there will be plenty left over for sandwiches, and to take to Jesse and Cody) ready to go in the oven by putting them in a large roasting pan (which she bought at the grocery store), coating them liberally with butter, and sprinkling them with sea-salt, freshly chopped dill, and freshly ground pepper. Crumpled foil is used to keep them upright so that they'll brown nicely. She finishes snapping the green beans and sticks them in the fridge to be blanched later before being tossed with halved cherry tomatoes and Italian dressing.

She pauses when she hears the Rangers arrive at the scene of the lost hiker. She answers when Matt calls to tell her. Then the phone ringing stops her as she starts crumbling the cornbread. She catches it on the second ring, answering as she'd heard Izzy, "High Mountain Rangers, can I help you?"

"Is Matt there?"

"I'm afraid not. Can I take a message?"

"Who is this," an older woman demands, "I know the voices of all the Rangers."

"Kris Morrell, I'm just sort of filling in for a few days," Kris answers hesitantly, not liking the woman's attitude. She removes the pound cake from the oven and sets it to cool on the stove.

"You're not a Ranger then?"

"No Ma'am."

"Now I know who you are. I've heard about you. Matt was with you at the hospital."

Kris rolls her eyes, but remains the sweet Southern lady that she was taught by her mother and both grandmothers, "The Rangers are on a call. Would you like for me to have him call you when he gets in?"

"Yes, tell him to call his mother."

"Yes Ma'am." Hanging up, Kris gets busy with crumbling up the warm cornbread (pulling on food service gloves so she won't have to worry about getting it all up under her nails). Once finely crumbled, she adds a few pieces of finely-torn white bread, six Cage-Free Eggland Eggs (which she prefers due to their richer taste and less-cruel method of being kept), the simmering chicken stock until the mixture reaches a soupy consistency, lots of freshly ground black pepper, and some freshly chopped parsley. The mixture is then turned into an aluminum pan to be baked later. Then the chicken breasts are removed from the leftover stock (which will be saved for soup later) and set in the fridge to chill. The two turkey breasts are slipped into the oven.

Finished as far as she can, Kris picks up the phone and radio and returns to the living room. She debates about working on the profile, but really doesn't feel like it. So she pulls on a dark blue barn jacket (from Eddie Bauer) and goes to sit outside with Frost. When she sits down on the top step, the big dog comes over to lie down beside her—his head resting on her knee. She absently strokes his head as she enjoys the crisp mountain air. **It's funny, for the first time in years—I feel like I'm really home**, she thinks with a soft smile. She looks around her with a sharp eye for the details—there's a large pasture (enclosed by a split-rail fence) that is next to the driveway (Golden Prince is grazing contentedly with the Rangers' horses, no surprise there—he's so laid back and easy-going). On the other side is a firing range (meaning the horses get used to the sound of gunfire) and the landing pad for the chopper. In front of her, the Rangers park their work (Chevy Blazers) and personal vehicles (a mixture of trucks and SUVs).

**I can see myself living here**, she realizes with a bit of a shock. The cold certainly doesn't bother her, which she attributes to her Northern roots. Despite loving her farm back in Georgia, she really doesn't call it home—more of a resting place between trips and shows, plus the hot muggy weather during summer drives her asthma crazy—she doesn't get out much during the summer months—except late in the evening or early in the morning, doing her training and trail riding before it gets to hot. And the mild summer weather here will be great. **I wonder if I can find a place with a few acres, big enough for Silver, Golden Prince, and maybe a horse or two when they're back at the farm—maybe even raise a foal or two, work with other horses. Have a little garden where I can grow some heirloom veggies and flowers. And it will be closer to Matt, so I can see where that goes**, she wonders to herself. But she realizes that until the Olympic Trials, and quite possibly the Olympics themselves are over—that's impossible, at least for now. Still, she makes a mental note to call a real-estate agent to see what's available, since money's no object. And it will be nice to have a place to keep the guys when not back at Dogwood Farm, siring the next generation of top Quarter Horses and Thoroughbreds—maybe even one or two of their foals to bring along herself.

She also needs to call Jennifer (her friend in L. A. that's allowing Silver to stay at her place) to tell her of her change in holiday plans. **Wonder how much begging I'll have to do to get her to bring him and Lassie up. But it'll be nice to give him a break before the Trials—riding through the snow on long trail rides. And I definitely want to be riding him when I confront Baxter again.** The stallion seldom faces a jump outside the show ring, and because he knows the Dressage tests, she rarely rides a complete test unless it's right before a competition—to refresh both their memories.

**Then again, I wonder how Matt will like having an eighteen hand snow-white Thoroughbred stallion running with the Rangers' horses, **she thinks with a smile, since they use Quarter Horses (mountain-bred and raised Foundation—he'd told her) because of their toughness, calm dispositions (since they have to be used to gunfire, dogs, and helicopters), sure-footedness, and trail sense. **Nothing wrong with Foundations, since that's what Golden Prince is**, and what she prefers over the Appendix (one-quarter to one-half Thoroughbred). To her, Appendix are fine for the breed race track (Silver's sired several successful ones himself) and show-ring (Western and English classes), but for trail riding and ranch work, with their terrific dispositions, nothing beats a Foundation Quarter Horse. Though she loves Silver's strength, courage, intelligence, speed, stamina, and athleticism—making him a fantastic trail horse, despite being a Thoroughbred.

The ringing of her cell-phone interrupts her thoughts, causing her to jump at the soft sound of "All I Ask of You" (from Phantom of the Opera). She catches it on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Kris—where the hell are you?"

"Jennifer—what's wrong?"

"I'm half-way to Lake Tahoe and have called the cabin twice, but didn't get an answer. You've got a horse and dog that miss you."

"Long-story, but I'm not staying at the cabin. Ever heard of the High Mountain Rangers?"

"Sure, who hasn't? Why?"

"I'm staying at Ranger Station, for right now. It's on Ranger Road, about 3 miles South of South Lake Tahoe."

"Gotcha. Should be there within a couple of hours."

"What are you bringing?"

"Everything. I'm bringing your truck and trailer, so I can pick up my trailer from the cabin. Bill's with me so he can help drive. I'll drop him at the cabin and have him meet me at the Station then. Everything is already in the trailer. Cassie and Rose packed all the supplements for both horses and dogs, along with all their concentrate and hay. They've left for home for the holidays."

"I was going to call you anyway, I'm staying through the holidays."

"Tell me more when I get there," Jennifer demands, then hangs up.

Kris hits the disconnect button and places her little Tracfone on the steps beside her (she uses the pre-paid so she doesn't have to fool with paying every month, or be limited as to whom and where she can use it—she bought a year's minutes at one time in August, so she doesn't have to worry about running out). It's also small enough it fits in a little holder either in a riding boot, on her arm, or on her belt.

**I guess I'm fixing to find out how Matt feels about having Silver here**, she thinks with a smile. She's not worried about the stallion coping with the mountains, as he's a super trail horse and incredibly tough (even for a Thoroughbred). But she is concerned about what Matt'll think about the horse.

The radio beside her going off draws her attention. The hiker has been found, alive but suffering a mild case of hypothermia, but a Ranger has been injured. In her heart, she knows instinctively that it's Matt.

Ten minutes later, the Blazers return and Matt gets out, leaning heavily on Jim Cutler's shoulder and limping badly. Kris immediately jumps down and runs to his side, "What happened?"  
"One of those things—I stepped wrong in the snow and it was hiding a hole, twisted my left knee, again," Matt explains with a grimace of pain.

Kris immediately takes charge with the air of someone used to giving orders, "Let's get him inside and get that knee elevated. I'll get an icepack to put on it."

Within minutes, Matt's comfortably resting on the couch in the Station's living room, with an ice pack on his left knee and a pillow beneath it. Seeing that his old friend is in good hands, Jim heads for the stable to check on his blood bay Quarter Horse mare, who is nursing an injured left foreleg. Kris returns to the kitchen to fix sandwiches for everyone, and check on the turkey breasts. She returns shortly with a ham and cheese and Coke for Matt, along with a couple of Extra Strength Tylenol, and perches on the coffee table next to him, making sure he's okay. "Your mother called while you were gone," she tells him as he eats.

"Great. Did she say what she wanted?"

"Nope, just for you to call her back. And my friend Jennifer called, she's about two hours out with Silver and Lassie. I hope it's okay that she brings him here, otherwise I'll have to move back to the cabin."

"It's fine with me, but will he be okay?"

"He'll be fine. I'll put his heaviest blanket on him, since he's fully clipped. But he loves being out, so running in the pasture won't be a problem. She's also bringing my truck and trailer. I used her truck and trailer to bring Golden Prince up here."

Returning to the kitchen, Kris sets lightly salted water to boil and gets a bowl of ice water ready so that she can blanch the green beans. Once the water boils, she dumps the green beans in and times them for exactly three minutes, then removes them to the ice water, stopping the cooking and setting the bright green color. After a few minutes, she drains them and puts them into a clean bowl to chill in the fridge.

A slurry is quickly made to go on top of the pound cake: a stick of butter creamed with a cup of sugar, vanilla, an egg, and a cup of milk, then it's topped with chopped walnuts and milk-chocolate chips—then it's put in the oven to bake, along with the dressing. She makes a mental note to fix a couple of plates for Jesse and Cody, so that she can run them up tomorrow. She's seen where their cabin is on the maps and figures she and Silver, along with the dogs, can go for a long ride—being anxious to see some of the mountain scenery. **Maybe Matt can even take some time off and go with me**, she muses as she checks the turkey breasts.

Promptly at two, a big black Ford F-250 with a crew cab, pulling a custom built Feather-Lite Trailer, with large tack/feed storage compartment. Kris jumps down the stone steps of the Ranger Station to greet the petite red-head that gets out of the driver's seat with a large blue merle collie. Matt watches as they hug, but notices how she winces slightly, "Thanks for bringing Silver and Lassie."

"You're welcome. Silver was content for a day or two—running in my pasture, but it's obvious he's bored and wants you. You going to be all right to look after him?"

"We'll be fine."

"Bill will be here in a minute with my truck and trailer. Got all their hay, sweet feed, and supplements, along with their tack, since I don't know if you'll be returning before the first Trial. Your Blazer and Wanderlodge are still at my place."

Kris kneels to greet Lassie (Lassie of Skye, CDX)--a beautiful blue merle collie that she adopted from her maternal grandfather's neighbor, who was forced to go into a nursing home after suffering a massive stroke. After a year, the collie has adopted to her new owner's hectic lifestyle of travel and horseshows, becoming a favorite with everyone because of her sweet nature and unusual color. She's great with the horses as well. She wears a dark blue nylon collar with a Georgia Rabies tag and a Saint Francis ID tag with her cell-phone number on it. She looks up at Jennifer, "Did she make the trip okay?"

"She's fine. But she missed you, because she became depressed and all but quit eating." Jennifer looks up to see Matt on the porch, watching, "Hubba hubba! Who's the hunk?"

Kris can't help but laugh, "Come on, and I'll introduce you two. Then we'll see about getting Silver out." She leads the way up the steps and makes the introductions, "Matt—this is Jennifer Stokes, a friend of mine from LA. She was nice enough to allow me to leave Silver with her for a few days, then decided to bring him up here. Jennifer, Matt Hawkes—CO of the High Mountain Rangers." She bends down to pet Lassie, "And this is Lassie."

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Hope you know what you're getting into, allowing Kris to stay here. Knowing her, she'll keep life interesting," Jennifer grins at the good-looking hunk, "Where do you want me to park the trailer?"

"Let Jim back it into the slot next to our trailer next to the barn," Matt tells her with a warm smile.

"Let me get Silver out first. He's probably going crazy by now." And sure enough, having heard his owner's voice, there's a racket coming from the trailer—whinnying and pawing the floor. With a smile at Matt (who's watching with keen interest, having been joined by Jim, Robin, Tim, Izzy, and Frank on the porch), Kris opens the doors of the back of the trailer and steps in. She's delighted to see her horse and greets him with a warm kiss on the nose and hug before backing him out—coaxing him into stepping down carefully into the gravel parking lot. She holds him loosely by the rolled black leather halter as he cautiously gets to the ground and stands proudly—surveying the scene with a keen eye as he paws the ground impatiently—he wants to run a bit after the trip from L. A.

At eighteen hands (six feet at the point where the neck blends into the shoulder—referred to as the withers), Silver's impressive even with his SmartPac Smart Blue Plaid (a portion of the sales of which go to Equestrian Charities) Stable Blanket. Realizing that Matt and the others would like to get a good look at the world famous stallion (sired by the famous British/European Champion Snow King—also a rare white, and out of a dapple gray mare called Kentucky Moonlight), she tells him to stand while she removes the blanket, then leads him over to the porch. He's got a finely chiseled head (with wide flaring nostrils—better to scoop air into his powerful lungs), sparkling onyx black eyes that give him a regal look, long neck that blends into a deep chest and sloping shoulders, short back, powerful hindquarters, and long legs that end in razor-sharp hooves. His mane has been allowed to grow long. His tail has been banged (cut straight across the bottom) but is long and flowing. He's a perfect snow-white (rare in Thoroughbreds). Overall, a very impressive sight. He was named for the Lone Ranger's famous stallion, Silver.

Silver paws the ground a bit, seemingly annoyed at the strangers, but remains quietly at Kris' side, his muzzle resting lightly on her shoulder. He shoots everyone a look that tells them right quick not to mess with him or his owner. "What do you think," she asks, looking at Matt.

"Beautiful animal, but can he handle living up here?"

"Trust me, he's pretty tough," Kris assures him as she gives Silver a nudge in the chest, causing him to back up a few steps. When he does, she turns to face him and he becomes alert, his eyes and ears focused on her. When she snaps her fingers, he rears up to his full height, pawing the air with his razor-sharp steel-shod hooves. He comes down and stands motionless—waiting her next command. "Go ahead and stretch your legs," she tells him with a smile. He takes off—running at an easy gallop, stretching his long legs, until he reaches the end of the driveway. At her whistle, he comes to a rearing stop and spins in a perfect pirouette before returning.

Matt can't help but admire the graceful way the stallion moves, with long powerful strides, and how his long mane and tail fly as he gallops along. He stops when he gets close to the Station and sniffs the ground to find the right stop in the snow—drops to his knees, then rolls—scratching his back in obvious pleasure—for a few seconds before standing and shaking himself off, then returning to Kris' side. She affectionately scratches up under his tousseled mane just behind his ears. Robin hesitantly comes down the steps and offers a piece of carrot, which he gracefully accepts—tickling her hand with his whiskers, "What a beauty! He's gorgeous!"

"Thanks, but I can't take all the credit—he looks just like his sire—except taller. Snow King was seventeen hands (five feet eight inches). He's also got a little more of a refined head—his dam had the most beautiful head I've ever seen on a Thoroughbred, judging from the pictures I was given. Unfortunately, she died shortly after he was foaled, so I raised him on a bottle while Golden Prince practically raised him, teaching him what he should know. But you really ought to see him when he's all polished up for a show—black polish on his hooves, a little clear highlighter on his face, mane braided with black or silver thread, tail brushed smooth, his coat polished, and a brow band with stones on his bridle. Quite a sight then. And then when he's doing a piaffe, which is sort of a trot in place, or a passage—a very slow, elevated trot.. He can also kneel on command, which comes in handy on trail rides, since he's so tall."

"I'm sure," Matt comments as he limps down the steps to see the stallion. Silver tosses his fine head, but remains still under his owner's gentle hand. He carefully extends his hand, allowing him to sniff it. The horse does, recognizing her scent, and decides to accept him, nuzzling his hand lightly. "Didn't you say he's a double Grand Prix," he asks as he scratches up where he'd seen Kris scratch.

"Yep—only Thoroughbred in the world to be a Grand Prix Jumper and Dressage Horse, and excel at both of them. He'd probably be great at Eventing too, if I wanted to—as he loves to gallop and jump cross-country—that's how I keep him in shape. There's a couple of other horses that are double Grand Prixs—one is a Thoroughbred/Irish Draught gelding in England, and the other is a Danish Warmblood stallion, in Denmark. There's also a Friesian stallion that's almost one. Horses that can do both, and do them well, are extremely rare, as are riders that are capable of riding both. At the lower levels, Training up through about Second Level, some horses do both. But upper-level Dressage requires a lot of mental abilities, as well as athleticism. Silver's one of those that has the abilities to do both."

Jim takes the keys from Jennifer and goes to move the truck and trailer to sit beside the Rangers' trailer, "Want me to unhook your truck?"

Kris turns with a warm smile, "Would you? Then, I'll unload their feed, supplements, and tack."

Once the trailer is backed into place, and the truck unhooked, Kris and Jennifer get the horses' Nutrena (Active Formula for Silver, Moderately Active for Golden Prince) sweet feed and supplements into the feed room. Silver's black Tucker Cheyenne (custom-made for the Thoroughbred stallion), breast place, and bosal (with white nose piece, cotton reins, and black hanger with silver trim-work), along a royal blue saddle pad, are stored in the tack room next to Golden Prince's (she leaves the rest of their Western and English tack in the trailer's tack room, along with their blankets). She swaps out Silver's SmartPac blanket for a heavy weight Rider's International charcoal/navy blue, but leaves their others where she can get to them easily.

She decides to leave Silver loose, for the time being—but will put him in a stall for his supper.

Jennifer gives Kris a quick hug before leaving, "Have a nice Christmas up here. And good luck with Matt. He's a cutie."

"Thanks. But you ought to see him in a pair of jeans—got a cute butt. He gave me a case of the vapors," Kris laughs.

Dinner that night is it's usual noisy affair. Everyone is very appreciative of Kris' cooking, and there's plenty left over to take up to Jesse and Cody the next day. Talk is light and easy—centering around the events of the day. And the Rangers are full of questions about Silver and the up-coming Olympic Trials—asking questions about both events. Then since she did the cooking, they volunteer to clean-up (making sure to put left-over turkey, dressing, and bread-pudding aside).

Having fed Silver and Golden Prince earlier, then turning them back out, Kris retreats to the front porch to sit in the swing with a glass of iced tea. Having caught up on his paper-work for the time being, Matt comes out to find her relaxing as she watches the horses. Frost is lying on the top step, while Lassie dozes on the porch. He sits down in the swing beside her, draping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her against him. "That was a great dinner," he tells her as he sips his coffee.

Kris relaxes against him, snuggling into his shoulder, "Thanks, glad you enjoyed it. There's plenty left for your Dad and Cody."

"Feel like riding up there in the morning?"

"I was hoping you'd say that. I'd love to see them again—your Dad is such a character, and Cody's so sweet," Kris smiles.

"You just don't know Dad very well yet," Matt chuckles affectionately, "And Cody's just like him."

Silver could use the exercise as well and I can show you what a fantastic trail horse he is. And I'd love for your Dad and Cody to see him as well."

"Hard to think of a Thoroughbred as a trail horse."

"You''ll be surprised," she smiles as she takes a sip of her iced tea, "He can outrun anything on four legs. And jump anything he comes across. He's the most fearless horse I've ever ridden—even better than Golden Prince."

After a moment of a comfortable silence, Matt speaks softly, "How are you feeling?"

"Not to bad. Robin said she'd change the bandage for me."

"And about me?"

"Well—if you're trying to win me over, the battle's won. You know, it's amazing at how comfortable I am—sitting here with you. It's like—the rest of the world doesn't exist. I'm not worrying about Baxter, the upcoming Trials, . . .anything. Instead, I'm looking forward to a long ride through the winter mountains tomorrow and seeing your Dad and Cody again. And to spending the day with you. What more could I want?"

"And I'm looking forward to spending the day with you," Matt smiles as he kisses her gently, causing her to melt into him. "Something to give you pleasant dreams about tonight," he sighs, stroking her silky hair when they reluctantly part.

"I had wonderful dreams last night, thanks to you," Kris smiles up. Silver leaves his position under a towering oak tree to wander over to check out his owner's new love interest. She glances at the stallion with obvious affection, "Relax Big Guy. We're going on a nice long ride tomorrow. You can show off then." He nickers softly, stepping cautiously into the flower bed, being careful not to step on anything, so stretch his long neck, accepting a piece of peppermint.

"I'm surprised you don't have him shut away somewhere, as valuable as he is."

"He'd be miserable—he prefers to be out as much as possible. He has a lot of energy and just wants to be out," Kris laughs, scratching under the stallion's long mane. She leans more against Matt, content in his gentle company.

Robin and Jim step onto the porch to find Matt and Kris sitting in the swing, with her snuggled up next to him. They're both relaxed and content. "That was a great dinner," he tells her as he sits in one of the rockers, with Robin in the one next to him.

"I'm glad ya'll enjoyed it," Kris smiles warmly, "I love cooking for people who enjoy their food. I was telling Robin how I learned to cook from right after I was adopted at the age of eight."

"You're staying through Christmas then," Robin asks, curious about the young girl who's captured Matt's heart.

"Matt's asked, and I'm anxious to experience a white Christmas here in the Sierras, as I've never had one," Kris explains, "My other option was to take the horses and return to Sea Island, on the Georgia Coast. My parents are on a cruise, my mother's idea. She wanted out of DC, but not to go back to Georgia. And her family back there no longer gets together at the holidays anymore, since her mother died of complications from Alzheimers. They just kind of drifted apart after that."

"That's to bad," Jim comments softly, "Family is important."

"Yes and no," Kris adds, "My father comes from old money, my mother from a rural background. Me, I'm adopted. I'm very close to my father, but not my mother."

"How do the Olympic Trials go," Jim wants to know.

"Los Angeles, Las Vegas, Fort Worth, Atlanta, and then Washington. In Show Jumping, points are awarded for placings—ten for first, nine for second, eight for third, and so on. The four with the highest points will go to Athens, with the next two highest as alternates. In Dressage, the total scores for both the Grand Prix and Freestyle are added, then totaled for the five shows, then averaged. The four with the highest will go, with the next two as alternates again. With the Games themselves starting on August eighth, we'll leave around the middle of July for Athens."

"You feel pretty confident then," Jim asks, curious.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," Kris admits, looking at Silver with a trained eye, "Silver's in perfect condition, he's been making scores in the eighties ever since he hit the Grand Prix Level, and even before that. I look for him to break ninety at some point. He's also an unbelievably courageous jumper—never refused or balked, even bailed me out of a couple of difficult spots a few times."

Just then, Tim and Frank come out and take their seats, perching on the edge of the railing, giving Kris the impression that this is an evening ritual. Silver, not liking the strangers, moves back to the huge tree where she left him a pile of his hay in a portable feeder she set out. Talk is light and easy, mainly about the events of the day, but they make an effort to include her—making her feel like part of the group.

About nine, everyone but Kris and Matt goes inside. She snuggles up to him, relaxing and letting the mountains work their magic on her. "You okay," he asks, kissing the top of her head.

"I am now. It's funny, but for the first time—I feel like I'm really home. It's strange, but I feel like the rest of the world doesn't exist—it's just us, like we're alone in the universe."

"This could easily be your home," he tells her softly.

"I've never had a real home," her voice is wistful.

"I'll glad share the mountains with you," Matt grins, "Including Dad and Cody."

"Would they accept me? And what about the other Rangers?"

"They already have accepted you. I saw it tonight. As far as Dad and Cody go, Cody already likes you. And Dad will too."

"You think so?"

"I know so," Matt tells her softly, "Question is: can you accept me? I know I'm not perfect?"

"As far as I'm concerned, you are," Kris smiles up affectionately, "You're about the best looking man I've seen in ages, certainly one of the sweetest and most caring, what more could a girl want?"

"I'm also a 'mountain man'--born and bred," Matt reminds her, pulling her closer to him, allowing her to rest against his chest.

"Like that's a problem," Kris sighs, relaxing into him, "I was sitting out here thinking—while ya'll were gone—I can easily see myself living here. Have a little place not to far from here, keep Silver and Golden Prince when they're not back in Georgia, have a little garden where I could raise some heirloom veggies and flowers, have a couple of horses to ride when the guys are gone, maybe even work with other horses."

"I want you to feel comfortable here."

"I do, already."

"Good." Matt touches Kris' chin and tilts her head up so that he can look deep into her eyes. Without hesitating, he lowers his mouth to hers and touches his lips to hers. To his surprise, she melts into him. After a long silent moment he lifts his head, stroking her silky hair with a soothing hand, "How's that for persuasion?"

"Pretty damn good," Kris breathes.

"Kris--"

She silences him with a finger on his lips, "Let's just leave it at that for tonight."

"You're sure?"

"Positive." Kris glances at her watch, "It's almost nine-thirty. I'm going to let Robin change the bandage, then hit the sack. What time do you want to leave?"

"Whenever we get ready," Matt answers before pulling her down for one last kiss, then releases her, "Something to give you nice dreams tonight. And yell if you need me."

"I will," Kris smiles.

Going back inside, Kris goes into the bedroom she shares with Robin and submits to have the bandage changed. "It looks good, nice and pink," she tells her as she tapes a fresh bandage over it.

"Thanks."

"You two going up to Jesse's tomorrow?"

"Yeah—taking some of the leftovers. That's why I made plenty—enough for us, and some for them."

Robin sits on the edge of her bed and waits as Kris ducks into the bathroom and changes into a simple white cotton night gown. "I know it's none of my business, but I'd hate to see Matt get hurt—he and Jim are best friends, and he's a terrific friend to all of us, as well as being the best Commanding Officer we could ever have."

Kris perches on the edge of the bed and looks at her new friend, "We're taking it one day at a time. I'm not involved with anyone, and haven't been in ages."

"It's been a long time since Matt was involved with a woman. He dated a girl in college, but she dumped him when he broke his leg in the last football game of the season. She came through a couple of years ago, looking to rekindle their romance. Only time I've ever seen him come close to hitting a woman. She made some crude comments about his sexual skills on her way out the door. He stormed out, and Jim found him in a bar—totally plastered out of his mind. He took him back to his Dad's place and let him sleep it off." Robin smiles at Kris, "He must be pretty serious if he's taking you to Jesse's cabin."

"Would you believe me if I said I'm already half in love with him," Kris asks, not even half joking.

"About time," Robin laughs.

Kris smiles in return, "I think I fell in love with him while I was in the hospital—he was right there when I woke up. He's just so sweet and caring."

"I'm happy for both of you." Both women get under the heavy goose-down comforters on their beds. Robin turns out the light on the nightstand, "And if you need to talk—I'm a good listener."

"I'll remember that," Kris promises.

Jim comes out of the kitchen to find Matt staring into the fireplace—sipping a cup of hot chocolate. "The ladies in bed," he asks, sitting on the couch next to his best friend.

"Yep," Matt looks at him, valuing his opinion, "What do you think of her?"

"She's intelligent, soft-spoken, a great cook, and drop-dead gorgeous."

"Would you believe me if I said I was in love with her?"  
"About time, after Monica."

"Tell me about it. We're taking it a day at the time."

"But you're taking her up to Jesse's tomorrow?"

"If things progress, she's got to accept Dad and Cody."

"And about living here?"

"She's already thinking about it. But right now, she's concentrating on the Trials, then the Olympics themselves."

Jim slaps Matt on the back, "Have fun tomorrow."

"We will," Matt promises with a smile as he takes his cup to the kitchen and heads for his own bedroom.

Both have wonderful dreams that night.


	5. Chapter 5

"HIGH MOUNTAIN ROMANCE"

"HIGH MOUNTAIN RANGERS"

AUTHOR: KRISTILYNN

_Author's Note: Don't own them, they belong to the actors (and actress) that portrayed them. I promise that I mean them no harm._

Chapter Twenty-One:

On Sunday, December ninth, Kris awakens from a relatively peaceful sleep about seven. She lies still for a moment, listening to the sounds of Robin's deep breathing, and to the sound of footsteps in the hall outside the bedroom door (she's almost sure it's Matt). She reluctantly climbs out of the warm bed and heads for the shower. While shampooing her hair with a mountain-scented shampoo, then lightly conditioning it, she thinks about yesterday.

It was so nice—how everyone treated her like part of their large family. But she can't help but wonder if Matt's told them that she's Senator Morrell's daughter. Will that affect how they see her when they find out? She hopes it won't, but is afraid it will.

And Matt, he's such a sweetheart. He's so kind, gentle, and caring. In some ways, he reminds her of an overgrown teddy bear. And she has to fight the temptation to just give in and allow him to hold her like he did in the hospital.

Getting out of the shower, Kris submits to letting Robin put a clean bandage on the wound in her chest before she dresses. They idly talk as they prepare for the day—with a high of about thirty, with a chance of snow later in the week.

Matt looks up from the Reno Sunday paper with an approving smile as Kris bounds down the stairs. Her still damp hair has been pulled into a high ponytail that makes her look like a teenager. Her dark blue eyes have a merry twinkle and her color's good. She decided on black Mountain Horse Thermo breeches, the black Ariat Iceberg Tall Boot (made for riding in cold weather), a royal blue sweater, and has a silver-belly Stetson (with an obviously handmade sterling silver and lapis band) in her hand, with a pair of fleece-lined deerskin gloves. He sets his coffee cup down to greet her with a warm kiss as she leans down to hug him, catching her by surprise, "I wasn't expecting you up so early this morning. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, actually. But I can't help it—I'm an early riser. Let me feed the guys, then I'll eat breakfast."

"Let me give you a hand." Matt goes over to the coat rack just inside the front door and removes a heavy white goose-down parka, which he hands to her, "Here ya go. It's my spare."

Kris snuggles into the heavy white coat, loving the way it smells just like Matt—that clean woodsy scent that she can pick out any where, "Thanks."

Matt slips into his own and follows Kris outside. Leery of the huge Thoroughbred, he allows her to lead him into the assigned stall while he fetches Golden Prince from the pasture. It takes her a couple of minutes to mix their supplements with their sweet feed. While they eat their breakfasts, they idly watch them and talk about first one thing then another. And she finds herself perfectly content in his easy, undemanding company.

Once the horses have eaten, Golden Prince is turned back out with the Ranger horses. Silver is simply turned out until it's time to saddle him up

While Robin prepares pancakes, with Jim fixing the bacon, Kris feeds Frost and Lassie their Foster and Smith Canned Hearty Beef Stew, mixed with a scoop of the Adult Dry food and their supplements (from Smart Pac): Cosequin DS for their joints, Salmon Oil for their coats, and Source as a multi-vitamin.

After breakfast, while Kris packs up what she's taking to Jesse and Cody (left over turkey, dressing, beans, and bread pudding) in a large wicker basket that she can tie to her saddle, Matt vanishes upstairs to change out of his sweats. He returns in fifteen minutes. She blinks as he picks up the basket for her: faded blue jeans (that hug his butt to perfection), a white mock turtleneck sweater, and black Mountain Horse Ice Rider tall boots. His white blond hair has been neatly combed into place. "You look terrific," she tells him warmly.

"Thanks—so do you," he gives her another warm kiss, "You ready?"

"I am. I put me a couple of Diet Cokes, and snacks for the dogs in the basket as well."

Going outside, Matt goes to catch his cream Mustang gelding—Spirit--to saddle him with a dark brown Tex Tan saddle, matching breastplate, and matching bridle with a low-port grazing bit. After a good grooming, he tosses light blue saddle blanket over the gelding's short back. Once the horse is saddled, he secures a sheepskin pad to the seat, then checks that his emergency equipment is ready to go, with his radio hooked to his belt.

He looks up as Kris returns with Silver, his nose resting lightly on her shoulder. The eighteen hand stallion has on a black Tucker Cheyenne Western saddle, with a matching breastplate. But instead of a regular bridle, he wears a black with silver trim bosal hanger, white bosal, and black cotton reins. There's an obviously old rawhide lariat hooked just in front of the right stirrup. A large pair of black leather saddlebags are tied just behind the cantle, with a large bedroll secured on top. An American flag saddle blanket is beneath, with a sheepskin to cushion the horse's back. Another sheepskin will cushion her when she mounts. Boa Bots (boots that slip on over the hoof) will keep snow from balling up in the feet. "You any good with that," he asks, nodding at the lariat.

"Good enough to do some competitive roping," Kris smiles, "I bought it from the King Ranch, for emergencies."

"Where did you get the saddle?"

"Smith Brothers. They and State Line Tack are where I get my Western gear. Dover and Bit of Britain provide most of my English." Kris sets her Stetson on her head and looks at Matt, "You ready?"

"Let me get my own hat," Matt grins as he drops Spirit's reins, then vanishes back inside, returning with a white Stetson of his own. He quickly gives Kris a leg up, watching as she settles lightly into the saddle and catching her reins—noticing that her seat is flawless: head up, shoulders back, left hand light on the reins (the right catches the extra and rests on her thigh), shoulders, hips, and ankles in perfect alignment. **The result of her training in Dressage**, he guesses as he turns to mount his gelding.

Silver paws the ground impatiently as Kris watches Matt mount with the ease of someone who has spent a life-time in the saddle. His seat, while not as classical as her own (since she began riding Dressage at eight), is instead comfortable for long hours of riding at speed over difficult terrain. Frost and Lassie, eager to explore their new home, range ahead as the two horses walk quietly through the snow-covered Sierras. The stallion, though alert and paying attention to his surroundings, never hesitates—even when in knee-deep snow. Taking in the scenery, she breathes deeply of the icy mountain air—loving the serenity of the thick Alpine woods. She can already see why Matt loves it here.

Silver tenses as his sensitive ears and nose alert him to the presence of an unfamiliar animal. He stops in mid-stride—raising his head and testing the frigid air with quivering nostrils. His ears move as he tries to pinpoint the source of whatever could endanger his beloved owner. Kris remains still, letting him work.

Matt reins up beside them, staring at the stallion, "What's wrong?"

"I'm not sure," Kris leans forward to lightly stroke Silver's long neck. His ears flicker back at her, then he refocuses his attention to the left. Frost and Lassie, having also picked up on the same thing, stand protectively in front of them. "He's not spooked though." A high-pitched howl echoes through the wilderness—causing Kris to shiver in spite of herself.

"Gray wolves," Matt explains, "DNR released a pair a couple of years ago and they've raised off a litter. Probably out hunting."

After a minute—when the next howl comes from further away, Silver relaxes and drops his head back into it's natural, relaxed position, resuming his easy walk. The two dogs run ahead, loving the cold and snow (with Frost—being a Malamute/Husky mix—it figures he'd love it). Kris relaxes and resumes her idle study of their surroundings.

"What were you thinking, before Silver went on the alert," Matt asks as Spirit moves up along side.

"How beautiful and peaceful it is up here. I can see why you love it so much," Kris shifts in the saddle to look at Matt, "How come you never married?"

Matt shrugs, "A combination of things. Like the fact that I'm a Ranger. One girl I dated, very briefly, wanted me to move to L. A. with her."

"She couldn't have loved you very much then if she wanted you to give up something you obviously love and enjoy," Kris observes quietly.

"Hadn't thought about that," Matt admits as they duck under an over-hanging tree branch, "Being a Ranger is in my blood, I guess. Dad founded them before I was born. I was a Ranger brat. Jim Cutler, his Dad is the vet who looks after the horses. Frank, his Dad Ben, was the first chopper pilot Dad hired. The three of us went to school together."

Kris can't help but laugh, "I'll have to see what kind of stories they can tell me about your wild childhood." Then she makes one of her sharp observations, "So—any woman you marry has to accept being a Ranger's wife, which I assume is a lot like being a cop's wife. What else?"

"Living up here. Summers are great, except for the idiot flatlanders who get into trouble."

"Watch it bud," Kris mock growls, "I'm one of those idiotic flatlanders."

"Yeah right," Matt chuckles, "I have the feeling you're pretty far from that. Anyway, winters—blizzards dumping snow that causes avalanches. Power going out for days at a time—having to rely on generators. Driving in snow. Helping injured animals. Being far from anything. Mom hated it and still does. That's why she left Dad and moved into South Tahoe, closer to everything."

"It's like where I'm establishing Dogwood Farm, three miles from the nearest little town—Ideal--which doesn't even have a stop light and the largest employer is a nursing home. It's fifteen from the County Seat of Oglethorpe—which is still fairly small. Montezuma is a couple of miles from there and isn't much larger. Perry and Warner Robins are about forty-five minutes away and about the size of South Tahoe. Macon, about the size of Reno is sixty miles. And Atlanta, about a hundred."

"So why there," Matt asks, curious.

"Preserving the old family farm, rather than seeing it destroyed. Land is also cheaper. And keeping more chicken farms from being built. Don't you know that Georgia's the 'chicken state'," Kris cracks, causing Matt to grin in return. "Keep going."

"Then there's my family. My mother is from a wealthy family out in Arizona—Evers, made their money in oil and cattle."

Kris nods, "I know the name."

"She married 'beneath' her. Later on, my grandfather wanted me to go to law school and join him. Then he got mad when I didn't. Haven't seen or talked to him in years. She and Dad split when I was ten and Cody was three."

"It's just the opposite in my family. Dad's from Old Money Old South. His parents considered my mother 'white trash'. Then, when I got grown—they wanted me to marry either a European or Southern blue blood. I've even been courted by a Duke."

"But you didn't," Matt grins.

"Nope," Kris grins in return as she leans forward to stroke Silver's neck again, "I thought it would be a fairy-tale, but then realized what I'd have been giving up."

"He's doing great," Matt comments as they cross a wide, but shallow, stream, pausing to let the horses and dogs take a drink. To his surprise, Silver doesn't hesitate—picking his way cautiously over the rocky bottom on a loose rein. They pause at the sight of a red-tail hawk swooping down out of nowhere to grab an unwary rabbit who ventured out from some undergrowth.

"Told ya," Kris smiles as she follows the bird's flight path up to a towering tree.

Chapter Twenty-Two:  
After a two hour ride, they reach Jesse's large cabin. Cody comes from around back when Dingy, his rangy-looking brown dog, barks at Frost and Lassie. He calls back towards the cabin, "Dad—Matt and Kris are here!"

Jesse, in faded jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt (while Cody is in equally faded jeans and a navy blue flannel shirt), steps out onto the porch to greet his son and his friend, "Hey you two—get down and come on in."

Kris slides out of the saddle as Jesse comes down the steps, "I hope ya'll don't mind—but I wanted to get out and do some exploring."

"And she brought you two some leftovers," Matt grins as he dismounts.

Jesse grins as he gives Kris a warm hug. **He smells like Matt**, she thinks as he greets them, "I certainly don't mind a visit from two of my favorite people."

"Gee, I'm honored to be among your favorite people," Kris smiles as Matt comes over to untie the basket.

"It's worth it—turkey, dressing, green beans, and bread pudding. And believe me—it's all great."

"Let me toss a blanket over Silver, since he's going to be relaxing." Kris unties a large royal blue and silver blanket from behind the cantle after removing the saddle and setting it on the porch railing. She tosses it over the stallion, buckling the straps, then removes the bosal.

Cody cautiously approaches the big snow-white stallion. To her surprise, he nickers softly as he nuzzles his hand. "He's gorgeous," he tells her.

"I agree," Jesse comments as he also extends a hand, which the stallion readily accepts, "But I can't believe you use him as a trail horse?"

"Why not? The Performance Horse Registry, which traces non-racing Thoroughbreds, has a program for those used as Trail and Pleasure horses. He's incredibly bold and courageous. He's already earned over two hundred hours. Tonight, I'll log onto the site and enter today's hours." She gently strokes Silver's long neck again.

Once inside, the turkey, dressing, and bread pudding are put in the stove to warm. The beans are set on the stove. Frost and Lassie, having quickly made friends with Dingy, are content to doze in front of the massive stone fireplace. After helping Cody to set the table, Jesse invites Kris to relax. "How are you feeling," he asks as she sits on the comfortable old couch, next to Matt, "You look better."

"Better, believe it or not," Kris smiles as she snuggles into Matt's broad shoulder, "I think I'm in love with this place."

"She's staying through Christmas," Matt tells him.

"That's great. That means you'll be up here Christmas Eve and Day," Jesse smiles warmly.

"My first white Christmas," Kris grins in return.

"Your parents or family won't miss you," Jesse asks, knowing how

"Mom and Dad are on a Christmas Cruise, of the South Pacific Islands. Both sets of grandparents died years ago. So my plan was to fly back to Brunswick, Georgia, then trailer Silver and Golden Prince over to Sea Island. Dad's parents left me their beach-front cottage. There's a nice stable where the guys stay, with lots of riding on the beach, through the coastal forest, and alongside the marshes," Kris explains, "It's pretty, and I've always loved it. But this place has a special beauty of its own."

Cody returns from the kitchen, "I put your Diet Cokes in the fridge."

"Thanks. I don't drink coffee, or hot tea, and I didn't figure ya'll had iced tea—at least this time of the year."

"She had me stop at the convenience store as she could stock up on Diet Coke and iced tea," Matt chuckles warmly.

"Tell me about your horses," Jesse asks as he sits in his easy chair, "I'm a big Quarter Horse fan myself."

"Me too. You're looking at a life-time member of the AQHA, as well as the Jockey Club. I'm establishing a farm, back at the farm my mother's from, to raise both breeds."

"I'm thinking about getting a small herd of Foundation mares, raise up some foals as mountain-bred replacements."

"I'll be glad to help you get the mares. I know plenty of people. And you're more than welcome to use Golden Prince, once the Olympics are over with. His foals have a good resale value—since he's such a terrific sire of intelligent, athletic foals with great dispositions. Plus, that'll make the Rangers eligible for the AQHA Remuda program. Probably be a good idea to join it once you get established."

"Would you mind helping me out?"

"Not at all," Kris smiles, "I'd love too. Plus, if you'd like—you can breed a couple to Silver. You'll get taller, faster horses. They'll be eligible for registration as Appendix and would be pretty valuable in the breed circles. He recently had a three year old, out of a Foundation mare, that sold for a quarter million at a select breed auction."

"Wow," Cody whistles.

"That's nothing. Last year, a yearling colt he sired, out of an Irish mare, set the all-time record at Saratoga."

"Can I ask," Jesse smiles.

"Sure. Try fifty million, by a Middle Eastern millionaire. He tried his best to buy Silver--'name your own price', he said. Then he wanted to clone him, but I refused on ethical grounds. So he bought the colt and promptly shipped him to the Middle East. Last I knew, he was racing successfully in Europe."

"What's your farm called," Cody asks, curious.

"Dogwood, after the wild ones growing in the woods. Our racing colors are royal blue with a silver diamond. The old barn, which used to house the farm and riding horses, is being converted to a stallion barn. Most of the mares will be allowed to foal out naturally, but there'll be a foaling barn. Also constructing a one mile exercise track, a ring for flat work, another for hunter/jumper, and two dressage arenas—a twenty by forty, for lower level, and a twenty by sixty, for upper level. And we'll be raising cattle as well, so that'll give the Quarters experience in a more relaxed setting. The young horses will be kept in a pasture except when being worked."

"Sounds like a good plan."

"I think so. My mother's family wanted to sell it for development, so I paid them twice fair market value on it. The old farmhouse, family chapel, and two private cemeteries are all being restored."

"Two cemeteries," Cody asks.

"My mother's family were never slave holders, but they had share-croppers on the place. Naturally, there were two cemeteries—one for the blacks, one for the whites. Her parents are buried there, as are generations of both. In exploring the attic, I found a detailed record of everyone buried, and the locations of their graves. So I'm having markers made to replace, or add to, the old ones. The family's private chapel is just a little white frame building, built about 1870. Eventually, I'd like for the place to rival those in Kentucky and Florida." There's no mistaking the excitement in Kris' brilliant blue eyes.

"Sounds like you've got it planned out," Jesse comments thoughtfully.

"Since Golden Prince won his first Super Horse," Kris answers.

"Where does that leave us," Matt asks.

"Actually, I've made up my mind to see if I can find a place nearby, with room for the guys when they're not back in Georgia. Maybe another riding horse or two, and maybe even raise a couple of their foals. Since summers back in Georgia are so awful."

"What about your consulting practice," Cody wants to know.

"With today's technology—I can do that pretty much anywhere. I already do a good bit of it via the Internet anyway." Kris looks at Cody, "Matt tells me you're quite a rider—would you like to ride Silver a bit after lunch?"

"I—I'd love to," Cody stammers, endearing himself to her.

"I think he sort of surprised your brother," Kris grins over at Matt.

"He sure did. We heard a wolf and he didn't even spook," he admits with a wry smile.

"Told ya," Kris laughs warmly.

Jesse changes the subject again, "What do you think of the Sierras?"

"They're absolutely beautiful! You know, I've been all over the world—seen the Andes, the Alps, Pyrenees, Kilamanjaro, you name it—but I've never felt the sense of peace and contentment that I have here," Kris' soft voice is thoughtful as she stares out the nearby window.

Jesse nods, realizing the mountains have started working their magic on her, "Would you be happy living up here?"

"I think so. Cold and snow just don't bother me. I usually just wear a barn jacket back in Georgia. My birth parents were from New England, so I guess that's where I get it. I'm not a beach person, though I love to skin and scuba dive."

"What sort of education do you have?"

"Not a law degree, like Dad's family wanted," Kris admits, "I have my Master's in Criminal Justice, with a minor in Psychology. I'm trained and certified as a Hostage Negoiator, at the Law Enforcement Academy back in Forsyth, Georgia—part of my degree. And since I travel so much, I'm a Level One EMT. Helps that I have a photographic memory and an IQ considered genius."

"You don't think you'll be bored though," Matt asks softly.

"I don't think so. I love winters, and during the summers—I'll be able to spend more time out riding and walking." Kris yawns widely and snuggles deeper into Matt's shoulder, drifting off into a contented doze.

Chapter Twenty-Three:

"What do you think," Matt asks as he and Jesse step out onto the porch of the cabin. He'd eased Kris down into the couch's deep cushions and covered her with an old blanket.

"She's extremely intelligent and well-educated, without being a snob. She's also polite and well-mannered. Not to mention cute," Jesse remarks thoughtfully.

"I ran a check on her—she's exactly what she said she is. Everyone had stories either about her, the horses and dogs, or something they'd done."

"You're thinking of asking her to be a Ranger?"

"What do you think," Matt counters, genuinely wanting to know what Jesse thinks.

"She's got a lot of the qualities you'd want."

"On top of which, she's an expert outdoorsman. She's got an uncle living in Eastern Africa, and has gotten four of the big five—all but rhino."

"You've got to be kidding?!"

"No, he's not," Kris smiles, stepping out onto the porch and handing them cups of coffee. She looks and feels better.

"How'd you manage that," Jesse asks as she sits down in the rocker next to Matt.

"I was visiting Uncle John when I was eighteen. He's a game warden in Tanzania and manages one of the large reserves in the country. He asked if I wanted to help him go after a leopard that attacked two tourists. I nailed him with a shot from from my twenty-gage double-barreled shotgun. Largest one by a woman at one hundred fifty pounds. Turned out he'd been injured by poachers."

"Good grief," Matt whistles.

"Stupid if you asks me," Jesse growls.

"In hindsight, yeah it was. The Cape Buffalo was a rogue that nearly destroyed two tour buses. I got him with my rifle with a heart/lung shot. Horn spread of seventy inches. The lion started killing cattle after a run-in with a poacher. Weighed about four hundred pounds. Both are the largest killed by a woman since 1950."

"And the elephant," Cody asks, having come out in time to hear the story.

"Tusks weight one twenty-five and one thirty. Same old story—turned rogue after a run-in with poachers, except he killed two of Uncle John's rangers."

"What did you do with them," Matt wants to know.

"I had the lion, leopard, and buff done as full body mounts and donated to the museum back in Macon. The ivory was also donated."

"Pretty good," Cody smirks as he collapses in a chair.

"I've also gone diving off South Africa with Great Whites—talking about scary! I'll have to bring my laptop up and show ya'll the pictures."

"Do you speak any foreign languages," Matt wants to know.

"Spanish fluently. I took it in school and college. Then used Rosetta Stone to become more fluent. I'm currently learning Arabic, and then will do Russian. I've got a fairly sharp ear for languages."

Matt and Jesse exchange glances. This is another plus in her favor. That soft spoken Southern charm hides a razor-sharp mind. She comes across as so quiet, but there's much more to her.

"So you like being outside," Jesse asks.

"Yes Sir. Having the horses to look after gives me the perfect excuse. And when studying a crime scene, I can find things that others miss. And with Frost, I can follow a scent trail."

Jesse nods—she's tough and courageous. "Ever done any climbing?"

For once, Kris shakes her head as Frost lies down at her side, and Lassie lies down on the top step, "No Sir. Not really."

Chapter Twenty-Four:

Lunch is a leisurely affair with the three men.

Kris has to admit to herself that she really likes Jesse. He raised Cody from the time he was three, while Matt lived in South Lake Tahoe with their mother. But he's very devoted to, and proud of, both boys. He's also very much involved in their lives.

She can also see a great deal of Jesse in Matt. They seem to share a deep love of the mountains they call home, as well as extensive knowledge of them. With a pang of regret, she realizes that while she loves where the farm is, she doesn't have that deep passion for it that the Hawkes men do. But at the same time, she can feel the Sierras starting to work their magic on her. For the first time in her life, she feels a sense of peace and contentment. A feeling she's never had before.

After lunch, Kris makes good on her promise to let Cody ride Silver. She gives him a quick lesson in how to handle the high-spirited stallion, then turns them loose. She retreats back to the porch to sit with Jesse and Matt, huddling into the parka. "He's good," she smiles at their father.

"He was riding before he could walk," Jesse grins.

"I can tell," Kris smiles in return as she sits next to Matt, "I'd love to see him in the show ring. Maybe in a few years, he can show some of your colts and fillies. By then, I'll be able to help some as well." She watches Cody as he walks and jogs Silver in a large circle, then turns back to Jesse and Matt, "Can I make a suggestion or two?"

"Of course. Go ahead."

"In addition to raising the horses, why don't you raise a few cattle for the organic/heritage market?"

Jesse looks at her curiously **his pale blue eyes so much like Matt's**, "Not a bad idea."

"There's a growing market for the heritage breeds, which are generally much hardier and tougher. And as a member of the American Rare Breed Conservancy, I can help with that as well."

"You wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all," Kris smiles.


End file.
